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A       T  E   S  T  I  M  O  X  T  A   T. 


TO    THE    EDITOR     OF    THE 


FROM      ITS      CONTRIBUTORS. 


WITH       FORTY-EIGHT      PORTRAITS      ON      STEEL,      FROM      ORIGINAL      PICTURES 
ENGRAVED      EXPRESSLY      F  O  R     THIS     WORK. 


N  E  W-YO  R  K: 

SAMUEL     HUESTON,     348     BROADWAY. 
MDCCCLV. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854,  by 
SAMUEL     HUES  TON, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New- York. 


jJofyn  2.  Grag, 

PRINTER  AND  STEREOTYPES 
05  He  97  Cliff,  cor.   Frankfort. 


917 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 

CONVERSATIONS  WITH  TALMA.  By  WASHINGTON  IRVING,  .  .  .15 

A  VISION  OF  THE  HOUSATONIC.  By  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES,  23 
EIGHTEEN  YEARS:  A  REMINISCENCE  OF  KENTUCKY.  By  SAMCKL 

OSGOOD, 27 

REPUBLIC  A.  By  GEORGE  LUNT 87 

THE  BRIDE  OF  THE  ICE-KING.  By  DONALD  G.  MITCHELL,  ....  39 

DRAMATIC  FRAGMENT.  By  GEORGE  H.  BOKER, 59 

GENTLE  DOVE :  AN  INDIAN  LEGEND.  By  FREDERICK  W.  SHELTON,  .  63 

THE  SNOW  SHOWER.  By  WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT,  ....  81 

A  DAY  AT  ST.  HELENA.  By  BAYARD  TAYLOR,  ......  S3 

TO  A  RICH  RASCAL.  By  THOMAS  W.  PARSONS, 95 

ON  LAKE  PEPIN.  By  EPES  SARGENT,  .....*...  9T 

ORPHEUS  IN  HADES.  By  WILLIAM  PITT  PALMER,  .  ....  113 

PISECO :  A  SKETCH.  By  GEORGE  W.  BETHUNE, 117 

DRYDEN  AND  MILTON.  By  W.  II.  C.  HOSMER, 131 

ANTEROS :  A  LIFE  WITH  ONE  PASSION.  By  DONALD  MACLEOD,  .  .  135 

I'M  GROWING  OLD.  By  JOHN  G.  SAXE, •  .  145 

RAMBLES  IN  THE  FAR  WEST.  By  RALPH  ROANOKE, 147 

TOO  MUCH  OF  A  CHANGE.  By  C.  A.  BRISTED, 191 

CAPT.  BELGRAVE.  By  FREDERICK  S.  COXZENS, 163 

AN  INVITATION.  By  JAMES  T.  FIELDS, .  187 

REMINISCENCES  OF  CHRISTOPHER  COLLES.  By  JOHN  W.  FRANCIS,  .  189 

JEANNIE  MARSH  OF  CHERRY  VALLEY.  By  GEORGE  P.  MORRIS,  .  209 

EDMUND  KEAN.  By  HENRY  THEODORE  TUCKERMAN, 211 

THE  SESSIONS  OF  PARNASSUS;  OR,  THE  BARDS  OF  GOTHAM.  By 

THOMAS  WARD, 219 

447 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

A  DUTCH  BELLE.    By  P.  HAMILTON'  MYERS, 233 

THE  EMPEROR'S  BIRD'S  NEST.     By  HEXRY  WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW,    .  247 

THE  IRON  MAN.    By  HEXRY  J.  BHEXT, 249 

THE  DEATH  OF  ULRIC.    By  THEODORE  S.  FAY, 2(59 

MARIE  LEFRETTE.    A  STORY  OF  KASKASKIA.    By  J.  L.  McCoxxEL,     .  277 

THE  WEDDING-TRIP  OF  KARL  ALVAR  RAFN.    By  CHARLES  G.  LELAXD,  322 

THE  SHROUDED  PORTRAIT.     By  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS,  ....  329 

TO  A  BEAUTIFUL  GIRL.    By  GEORGE  D.  PREXTICE, 345 

THE  LOVES  OF  MARY  JONES.    By  J.  M.  LEGARE', 347 

THE  BURIAL  AT  MARSIIFIELD.    By  R.  S.  CIIILTOX,         ....  373 

TRADITIONS  OF  THE  NATCHEZ.    By  T.  B.  THORPE, 375 

MASSACCIO.     BRANCACCI    CHAPEL,    FLORENCE.      By    JAMES    RUSSELL 

LOWELL, 381 

THE  SUN-DIAL  OF  ISELLA.    By  RICHARD  B.  KIMBALL,          ....  383 

A  TROPICAL  VOYAGE.    By  PARK  BENJAMIX, 303 

THE  SATANIC  IN  LITERATURE.    By  SAMUEL  S.  Cox, 3.97 

AD  FONTIUM  NYMPH  AS.    By  CHARLES  ASTOR  BRISTED,      .        .        .        .  418 

DIRGE,  AT  THE  GRAVE  OF  LITTLE  FREDDY.    By  H.  W.  ROCKWELL,     .  419 
A  CURT  HISTORY  OF  THE   UNITED   STATES:    In.  tlie  Hebraic  J&>/ //</•. 

By  HEXRY  R.  SCHOOLCRAFT, 421 

THE' DUELLIST.    By  ROBERT  T.  COXRAD, 433 

A  CHARADE.    By  GEORGE  WOOD, 4:;7 

LOVE   SUPREME.     From  an  unpublished  Story.     By  RUFUS  W.  GRISWOLD,      .  449 

LETTER  FROM  IDLE  WILD.    By  N.  P.  WILLIS, 451 

BURNET.    By  CHARLES  G.  EASTMAN*, 4:>-\ 

TREES.    By  ALFRED  B.  STREET, •  ...  45? 

ANTIQUE  DIRGE.     By  RICHARD  HEXRY  STODDARD, 4(15 

A  SERENADE.    By  RICHARD  HEXRY  STODDARD, 4''.i; 

PHYSICAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.    By  WILLIAM  H. 

SEWAHD, 467 

WELAWAY.    By  GEORGE  II.  CLARK, 479 

LITERARY  MARTYRDOM.    By  CHARLES  F.  BRIGGS, 481 

ZADOC  TOWN.    A  LEGEND  OF  DOSORIS.    By  JOHN  T.  IRVING,      .        .  493 
POETICAL  EPISTLE  TO  LOUIS  GAYLORD  CLARK,  ESQ.    By  FITZ-GREENE 

HALLKCK .  503 


LIST.  OF    ENGRAVINGS. 


ENGRAVED  TITLE  :  VIEW  OF  THE  PROPOSED  KNICKERBOCKER  COTTAGE. 

Louis  GAYLORD  CLARK. 

WASHINGTON  IRVING.     From  a  bust  by  BALL  HUGHES.      ......  15 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES, 23 

SAMUEL  OSGOOD, 27 

DONALD  G.  MITCHELL.     (Ik  Marvel,) 39 

GEORGE  H.  BOKER, 59 

FREDERICK  WILLIAM  SHELTON, 63 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT, .         .  81 

BAYARD  TAYLOR, 83 

EPES  SARGENT, 97 

WILLIAM  PITT  PALMER,     .         .        .         .        .         .        .         .         .        .        .        .112 

WILLIAM  II.  C.  HOSMER, 131 

DONALD  MACLEOD, 135 

JOHN  G.  SAXE, 145 

EDWARD  P.  MITCHELL,     (Ralph  Roanoke,) 147 

CHARLES  ASTOR  BRISTED, 181 

FREDERICK  S.  COZZENS.     (Richard  Ilaywarde,)       .        .        .        .        .        .        .163 

JAMES  T.  FIELDS,          ............  187 

JOHN  W.  FRANCIS, 189 

GEORGE  P.  MORRIS, 209 

HENRY  THEODORE  TUCK.ERMAN, .        .        .  211 

THOMAS  WARD, *  .  219 

P.  HAMILTON  MYERS, 233 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW,      .        .        .  247 


Xll  LIST    OF    ENGRAVINGS. 

PAGE 

HENRY  J.  BREXT, 249 

THEODORE  S.  FAY, 2G9 

J.  L.  McCoxxEL, 277 

CHARLES  G.  LELAXD, 322 

GEORGE  D.  PREXTICE, 345 

J.  M.  LEGARE, 347 

R.  S.  CHILTOX, 373 

T.  B.  THORPE, 375 

RICHARD  B.  KIMBALL,      .        . 333 

PARK  BEXJAMIX,             .      .  * 393 

SAMUEL  S.  Cox, 397 

HEXUY  R.  SCHOOLCRAFT, 42  L 

ROBERT  T.  COXRAD, 433 

GEORGE  WOOD, 437 

RUFUS  W.  GRISWOLD, 449 

NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS, 451 

CHARLES  G.  EASTMAN, 453 

ALFRED  B.  STREET, 457 

RICHARD  HEXRY  STODDARD, 465 

WILLIAM  II.  SEWARD, 4G7 

GEO.  II.  CLARK, 479 

CHARLES  F.  BRIGGS, 481 

JOHN  T.  IRVIXG, 493 

FITZ-GREEXE   HALLECK,                  503 


PREFACE. 


THE  KNICKERBOCKER  MAGAZINE  has  been  established  for 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  it  is  the  oldest  monthly 
of  its  class  now  or  ever  in  America.  It  has  been  conducted 
with  uniform  ability  and  industry,  and  among  its  contributors 
have  been  a  large  proportion  of  our  best  contemporary 
writers.  Our  periodical  literature  has  not  been  eminently 
successful,  and  the  friends  of  the  veteran  and  popular  editor 
of  the  KNICKERBOCKER  have  known  without  surprise,  but 
with  regret,  that  his  pecuniary  recompense  has  been  altogether 
disproportioned  to  his  long-continued  labors,  so  that  only  a 
loving  devotion  to  the  work,  which  he  has  led  from  its 
infancy  up  to  a  famous  maturity,  could  have  induced  him  to 
persevere  in  those  toils  which,  otherwise  applied,  would  have 
brought  a  suitable  reward  of  fortune. 

The  popular  actor  on  the  stage  receives  from  the  public 
substantial  "benefits,"  and  the  painter  or  sculptor  whose 
productions  have  been  more  celebrated  than  profitable, 
not  unfrequently  collects  them  in  an  exhibition  which  the 
lovers  of  art  gladly  support  for  his  sake  as  well  as  for  its 
attractive  merits ;  but  the  editor  has  no  such  resort,  as  a  test 


XIV  PREFACE. 

of  the  popular  good-will  for  him,  nor  any  extraordinary 
means  of  making  up  the  deficits  of  a  season  in  which  what 
the  world  owes  him  has  been  withheld. 

It  seemed  appropriate,  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Louis  G-AYLORD 
CLARK,  to  disregard  precedents  of  neglect,  and  to  offer  him 
a  testimonial  of  the  esteem  in  which  he  is  held  by  his  colldbora- 
teurs  that  should  be  both  pleasing  as  a  compliment  and 
valuable  as  a  contribution  to  his  means  of  happiness.  It  Avas 
proposed  that  the  surviving  writers  for  the  KNICKERBOCKER 
should  each  furnish,  gratuitously,  an  article,  and  that  the  col 
lection  should  be  issued  in  a  volume  of  tasteful  elegance,  of 
which  the  entire  avails  should  be  appropriated  in  building, 
on  the  margin  of  the  Hudson,  a  cottage,  suitable  for  the  home  ' 
of  a  man  of  letters,  who,  like  Mr.  CLARK,  is  also  a  lover  of 
nature  and  of  rural  life. 

The  editorial  preparation  of  this  volume  was  undertaken 
by  JOHN  W.  FRANCIS,  GEORGE  P.  MORRIS,  RUFUS  \V.  GRIS- 
WOLD,  RICHARD  B.  KIMBALL,  and  FREDERICK  \Y.  SHELTOX  ; 
their  circular  to  the  old  contributors  of  the  Magazine  was  met, 
in  all  cases,  by  a  ready  and  generous  response ;  and  they 
submit  the  result  in  confidence  that  a  literary  miscellany  of 
its  kind  has  rarely,  if  ever,  been  published  of  which  the  con 
tents  are  more  various  or  uniformly  excellent. 

XEW-YORK.  November  7,  1854. 


Bust  bj 


toitlr  fslra. 

FROM    ROUGH    NOTES    IN    A     COMMON-PLACE    BOOK. 

BY        THE        ATTTHOK        OF        THE        SKETCH-BOOK. 

PARIS,  April  25,  1821.  — Made  a  call  with  a  friend,  this  morning, 
to  be  introduced  to  Talma,  the  great  French  tragedian.  He  has  a 
suite  of  apartments  in  a  hotel  in  the  Rue  Des  Petites  Augustines, 
but  is  about  to  build  a  town  residence.  He  has  also  a  country 
retreat  a  few  miles  from  Paris,  of  which  he  is  extremely  fond,  and 
is  continually  altering  and  improving  it.  He  had  just  arrived  from 
the  country,  and  his  apartment  was  rather  in  confusion,  the  furniture 
out  of  place,  and  books  lying  about.  In  a  conspicuous  part  of  the 
saloon  was  a  colored  engraving  of  John  Philip  Kemble,  for  whom 
he  expresses  great  admiration  and  regard. 

Talma  is  about  five  feet  seven  or  eight  inches,  English,  in  height, 
and  somewhat  robust.  There  is  no  very  tragic  or  poetic  expression 
in  his  countenance ;  his  eyes  are  of  a  bluish  gray,  with,  at  times,  a 
peculiar  cast ;  his  face  is  rather  fleshy,  yet  flexible  ;  and  he  has  a  short 
thick  neck.  His  manners  are  open,  animated,  and  natural.  He 
speaks  English  well,  and  is  prompt,  unreserved,  and  copious  in  con 
versation. 

He  received  me  in  a  very  cordial  manner,  and  asked  if  this  was 
my  first  visit  to  Paris.  I  told  him  I  had  been  here  once  before,  about 
fourteen  years  since. 

';  Ah  !  that  was  the  time  of  the  Emperor  !"  cried  he,  with  a  sudden 
gleam  of  the  eye. 

"  Yes — just  aftei  his  coronation  as  King  of  Italy. 


18  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

given  as  Shakspeare  had  written  it.  He  spoke  with  admiration  of  the 
individuality  of  Shakspeare's  characters,  and  the  varied  play  of  his 
language,  giving  such  a  scope  for  familiar  touches  of  pathos  and  ten 
derness  and  natural  outbreaks  of  emotion  and  passion.  "All  this," 
he  observed,  "  requires  quite  a  different  style  of  acting  from  the  well- 
balanced  verse,  flowing  periods,  and  recurring  rhymes  of  the  French 
drama ;  and  it  would,  doubtless,  require  much  study  and  practice  to 
catch  the  spirit  of  it ;  and  after  all,"  added  he,  laughing,  "  I  should 
probably  fail.  Each  stage  has  its  own  peculiarities  which  belong  to 
the  nation,  and  can  not  be  thoroughly  caught,  nor  perhaps  thoroughly 
appreciated  by  strangers." 


[To  the  foregoing  scanty  notes 'were  appended  some  desultory 
observations  made  at  the  time,  and  suggested  by  my  conversations 
with  Talma.  They  were  intended  to  form  the  basis  of  some  specula- 
lations  on  the  French  literature  of  the  day,  which  were  never  carried 
out.  They  are  now  given  very  much  in  the  rough  style  in  which  they 
were  jotted  down,  with  some  omissions  and  abbreviations,  but  no 
heightenings  nor  additions.] 


The  success  of  a  translation  of  Hamlet  in  the  Theatre  Franpais 
appears  to  me  an  era  in  the  French  drama.  It  is  true,  the  play  has 
been  sadly  mutilated  and  stripped  of  some  of  its  most  characteristic 
beauties  in  the  attempt  to  reduce  it  to  the  naked  stateliness  of  the 
pseudo-classic  drama;  but  it  retains  enough  of  the  wild  magnificence  of 
Shakspeare's  imagination  to  give  it  an  individual  character  on  the 
French  stage.  Though  the  ghost  of  Hamlet's  father  does  not  actually 
tread  the  boards,  yet  it  is  supposed  to  hover  about  his  son,  unseen  by 
other  eyes ;  and  the  admirable  acting  of  Talma  conveys  to  the  audience 
a  more  awful  and  mysterious  idea  of  this  portentous  visitation  than 
could  be  produced  by  any  visible  spectre.  I  have  seen  a  lady  carried 
fainting  from  the  boxes,  overcome  by  its  effect  upon  her  imagination. 


CONVERSATIONS    WITH    TALMA.  19 

fn  this  translation  and  modification  of  the  original  play,  Hamlet's 
mother  stabs  herself  before  the  audience,  a  catastrophe  hitherto 
unknown  on  the  grand  theatre,  and  repugnant  to  the  French  idea  of 
classic  rule. 

The  popularity  of  this  play  is  astonishing.  On  the  evenings  of  its 
representation  the  doors  of  the  theatre  are  besieged  at  an  early  hour. 
Long  before  the  curtain  rises,  the  house  is  crowded  to  overflowing ; 
and  throughout  the  performance  the  audience  passes  from  intervals  of 
breathless  attention  to  bursts  of  ungovernable  applause. 

The  success  of  this  tragedy  may  be  considered  one  of  the  triumphs 
of  what  is  denominated  the  romantic  school ;  and  another  has  been  fur 
nished  by  the  overwhelming  reception  of  Marie  Stuart,  a  modification 
of  the  German  tragedy  of  Schiller.  The  critics  of  the  old  school  are 
sadly  alarmed  at  these  foreign  innovations,  and  tremble  for  the  ancient 
decorum'  and  pompous  proprieties  of  their  stage.  It  is  true,  both 
Hamlet  and  Marie  Stuart  have  been  put  in  the  strait  waistcoat  of 
Aristotle ;  yet  they  are  terribly  afraid  they  will  do  mischief,  and  set 
others  madding.  They  exclaim  against  the  apostasy  of  their  country 
men  in  bowing  to  foreign  idols,  and  against  the  degeneracy  of  their 
taste,  after  being  accustomed  from  infancy  to  the  touching  beauties 
and  harmonious  numbers  of  Athalie,  Polyeucte,  and  Merope,  in  relish 
ing  these  English  and  German  monstrosities,  and  that  through  the 
medium  of  translation.  All  in  vain !  The  nightly  receipts  at  the  doors 
outweigh,  with  managers,  all  the  invectives  of  the  critics,  and  Hamlet 
and  Marie  Stuart  maintain  triumphant  possession  of  the  boards. 

Talma  assures  me  that  it  begins  to  be  quite  the  fashioji  in  France 
to  admire  Shakspeare ;  and  those  who  can  not  read  him  in  English 
enjoy  him  diluted  in  French  translations. 

It  may  at  first  create  a  smile  of  incredulity  that  foreigners  should 
pretend  to  feel  and  appreciate  the  merits  of  an  author,  so  recondite  at 
times  as  to  require  commentaries  and  explanations,  even  to  his  own 
countrymen ;  yet  it  is  precisely  writers  like  Shakspeare,  so  full  of 
thought,  of  character,  and  passion,  that  are  most  likely  to  be  relished, 
even  when  but  partially  understood.  Authors  whose  popularity  arises 
from  beauty  of  diction  an,d  harmony  of  numbers  are  ruined  by  trans 
lation  ;  a  beautiful  turn  of  expression,  a  happy  combination  of  words 


20  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

and  phrases,  and  all  the  graces  of  perfect  euphony,  are  limited  to  the 
language  in  which  they  are  written.  Style  can  not  be  translated. 
The  most  that  can  be  done  is  to  furnish  a  parallel,  and  render  grace 
for  grace.  Who  can  form  an  idea  of  the  exquisite  beauties  of  Racine, 
when  translated  into  a  foreign  tongue  ?  But  Shakspeare  triumphs  over 
translation.  His  scenes  are  so  exuberant  in  original  and  striking 
thoughts,  and  masterly  strokes  of  nature,  that  he  can  afford  to  be 
stripped  of  all  the  magic  of  his  style.  His  volumes  are  like  the  ma 
gician's  cave  in  Aladdin,  so  full  of  jewels  and  precious  things,  that  he 
who  does  but  penetrate  for  a  moment  may  bring  away  enough  to 
enrich  himself. 

The  relish  for  Shakspeare,  however,  which,  according  to  Talma,  is 
daily  increasing  in  France,  is,  I  apprehend,  but  one  indication  of  a 
general  revolution  which  is  taking  place  in  the  national  taste.  The 
French  character,  as  Talma  well,  observes,  has  materially  changed 
during  the  last  thirty  years.  The  present  generation,  (the  "  children 
of  the  revolution,"  as  Talma  terms  them,)  who  are  just  growing  into 
the  full  exercise  of  talent,  are  a  different  people  from  the  French  of  the 
old  regime.  They  have  grown  up  in  rougher  times,  and  among  more 
adventurous  and  romantic  habitudes.  They  are  less  delicate  in  tact, 
but  stronger  in  their  feelings,  and  require  more  stimulating  aliment. 
The  Frenchman  of  the  camp,  who  has  bivouacked  on  the  Danube  and 
the  Volga ;  who  has  brought  back  into  peaceful  life  the  habits  of  the 
soldier ;  who  wears  fierce  moustaches,  swaggers  in  his  gait,  and  smokes 
tobacco,  is,  of  course,  a  different  being  in  his  literary  tastes  from  the 
Frenchman  of  former  times,  who  was  refined,  but  finical  in  dress  and 
manners,  wore  powder,  and  delighted  in  perfumes  and  polished  ver 
sification. 

The  whole  nation,  in  fact,  has  been  accustomed  for  years  to  the  glit 
ter  of  arms  and  the  parade  of  soldiery  ;  to  tales  of  battles,  sieges,  and 
victories.  The  feverish  drama  of  the  revolution,  and  the  rise  and  fall 
of  Napoleon,  have  passed  before  their  eyes  like  a  tale  of  Arabian 
enchantment.  Though  these  realities  have  passed  away,  the  remem 
brances  of  them  remain,  with  a  craving  for  the  strong  emotions  which 
they  excited. 

This  may  account  in  some  measure  for  that  taste  for  the  romantic 


CONVERSATIONS    WITH    TALMA.  21 

which  is  growing  upon  the  French  nation — a  taste  vehemently  but 
vainly  reprobated  by  their  critics.  You  see  evidence  of  it  in  every 
thing :  in  their  paintings ;  in  the  engravings  which  fill  their  print-shops ; 
in  their  songs,  their  spectacles,  and  their  works  of  fiction.  For  seve 
ral  years  it  has  been  making  its  advances  without  exciting  the  jealousy 
of  the  critics ;  its  advances  being  apparently  confined  to  the  lower 
regions  of  literature  and  the  arts.  The  circulating  libraries  have 
been  filled  with  translations  of  English  and  German  romances, 
and  tales  of  ghosts  and  robbers,  and  the  theatres  of  the  Boule 
vards  occupied  by  representations  of  melo-dramas.  Still  the  higher 
regions  of  literature  remained  unaffected,  and  the  national  theatre 
retained  its  classic  stateliness  and  severity.  The  critics  consoled 
themselves  with  the  idea  that  the  romances  were  only  read  by 
women  and  children,  and  the  melo-dramas  admired  by  the  igno 
rant  and  vulgar.  But  the  children  have  grown  up  to  be  men  and 
women ;  and  the  tinge  given  to  their  imaginations  in  early  life  is  now 
to  have  an  effect  on  the  forthcoming  literature  of  the  country.  As 
yet,  they  depend  for  their  romantic  aliment  upon  the  literature  of 
other  nations,  especially  the  English  and  Germans ;  and  it  is  astonish 
ing  with  what  promptness  the  Scottish  novels,  notwithstanding  their 
dialects,  are  translated  into  French,  and  how  universally  and  eagerly 
they  are  sought  after. 

In  poetry,  Lord  Byron  is  the  vogue  :  his  verses  are  translated  into 
a  kind  of  stilted  prose,  and  devoured  with  ecstasy,  they  are  si  sombre! 
His  likeness  is  in  every  print-shop.  The  Parisians  envelop  him 
with  melancholy  and  mystery,  and  believe  him  to  be  the  hero  of  his 
own  poems,  or  something  of  the  vampyre  order.  A  French  poem 
has  lately  appeared  in  imitation  of  him,*  the  author  of  which  has 
caught,  in  a  great  degree,  his  glowing  style,  and  deep  and  troubled 
emotions.  The  great  success  of  this  production  insures  an  inundation 
of  the  same  kind  of  poetry  from  inferior  hands.  In  a  little  while  we 
shall  see  the  petty  poets  of  France,  like  those  of  England,  affecting 
to  be  moody  and  melancholy,  each  wrapping  himself  in  a  little 
mantle  of  mystery  and  misanthropy,  vaguely  accusing  himself  of 
heinous  crimes,  and  affecting  to  despise  the  world. 

*  Tho  Missermiencs. 


22  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

That  this  taste  for  the  romantic  will  have  its  way,  and  give  a 
decided  tone  to  French  literature,  I  am  strongly  inclined  to  believe. 
The  human  mind  delights  in  variety,  and  abhors  monotony  even  in 
excellence.  Nations,  like  individuals,  grow  sated  with  artificial  refine 
ments,  and  their  pampered  palates  require  a  change  of  diet,  even  though 
it  be  for  the  worse.  I  should  not  be  surprised,  therefore,  to  see  the 
French  breaking  away  from  rigid  rule;  from  polished  verse,  easy 
narrative,  the  classic  drama,  and  all  the  ancient  delights  of  elegant  lite 
rature,  and  rioting  in  direful  romances,  melo-dramatic  plays,  turgid 
prose,  and  glowing  rough-written  poetry. 


PARIS,  1S21. 


Ji  Wum  0f  % 

EPILOGUE    TO    A    LECTURE    ON    WORDSWORTH. 


BY    OLIVEK    WEXDELL    HOLMES. 


COME,  spread  your  wings  as  I  spread  mine, 
And  leave  the  crowded  hall 

For  where  the  eyes  of  twilight  shine 
O'er  evening's  western  wall. 

These  are  the  pleasant  Berkshire  hills, 

Each  with  its  leafy  crown  ; 
Hark !  from  then*  sides  a  thousand  rills 

Come  singing  sweetly  down. 

A  thousand  rills ;  they  leap  and  shine, 
Strained  through  the  mossy  nooks, 

Till,  clasped  in  many  a  gathering  twine, 
They  swell  a  hundred  brooks. 

A  hundred  brooks ;  and  still  they  run 
With  ripple,  shade,  and  gleam, 

Till,  clustering  all  their  braids  in  one, 
They  flow  a  single  stream. 

A  bracelet,  spun  from  mountain  mist, 

A  silvery  sash  unwound, 
With  ox-bow  curve  and  sinuous  twist, 

It  writhes  to  reach  the  Sound. 

This  is  my  bark ;  a  pigmy's  ship ; 

Beneath  a  child  it  rolls ; 
Fear  not;  one  body  makes  it  dip, 

But  not  a  thousand  souls. 


24  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Float  we  the  grassy  banks  between; 

"Without  an  oar  we  glide ; 
The  meadows,  sheets  of  living  green, 

Unroll  on  either  side. 

Come,  take  the  book  we  love  so  well, 
And  let  us  read  and  dream 

We  see  whate'er  its  pages  tell, 
And  sail  an  English  stream. 

Up  to  the  clouds  the  lark  has  sprung, 
Still  trilling  as  he  flies ; 

The  linnet  sings  as  there  he  sung ; 
The  unseen  cuckoo  cries : 

And  daisies  strew  the  banks  along, 
And  yellow  kingcups  shine, 

"With  cowslips,  and  a  primrose  throng, 
And  humble  celandine. 

Ah  foolish  dream !  when  Nature  nursed 
Her  daughter  in  the  "West, 

Europe  had  drained  one  fountain  first ; 
She  bared  her  other  breast 

On  the  young  planet's  orient  shore 
Her  morning  hand  she  tried, 

Then  turned  the  broad  medallion  o'er 
And  stamped  the  sunset  side. 

Take  what  she  gives ;  her  pine's  tall  stem ; 

Her  elm  with  drooping  spray; 
She  wears  her  mountain  diadem 

Still  in  her  own  proud  way. 

Look  on  the  forest's  ancient  kings, 
The  hemlock's  towering  pride ; 

Yon  trunk  had  thrice  a  hundred  rings, 
And  fell  before  it  died. 


A   VISION    OF    THE    HOUSATONIC.  25 

Nor  think  that  Nature  saves  her  bloom 

And  slights  her  new  domain ; 
For  us  she  wears  her  court  costume ; 

Look  on  its  queenly  train ! 

The  lily  with  the  sprinkled  dots, 

Brands  of  the  noontide  beam ; 
The  cardinal,  and  the  blood-red  spots, 

Its  double  in  the  stream, 

As  if  some  wounded  eagle's  breast. 

Slow  throbbing  o'er  the  plain, 
Had  left  its  airy  path  impressed 

In  drops  of  scarlet  rain. 

And  hark !  and  hark !  the  woodland  rings ; 

There  thrilled  the  thrush's  soul : 
And  look !  and  look  I  those  lightning  wings  — 

The  fire-plumed  oriole ! 

Above,  the  hen-hawk  swims  and  swoops, 

Flung  from  the  bright  blue  sky ; 
Below,  the  robin  hops  and  whoops 

His  little  Indian  cry. 

The  beetle  on  the  wave  has  brought 

A  pattern  all  his  own, 
Shaped  like  the  razor-breasted  yacht 

To  England  not  unknown ! 

Beauty  runs  virgin  in  the  woods, 

Eobed  hi  her  rustic  green, 
And  oft  a  longing  thought  intrudes, 

As  if  we  might  have  seen 

Her  every  finger's  every  joint 

Ringed  with  some  golden  line ; 
Poet  whom  Nature  did  anoint ! 

Had  our  young  home  been  thine. 


26  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Yet  think  not  so ;  old  England's  blood 
Runs  warm  in  English  veins, 

But  wafted  o'er  the  icy  flood 
Its  better  life  remains ; 

Our  children  know  each  wild- wood  smell, 
The  bayberry  and  the  fern, 

The  man  who  does  not  know  them  well 
Is  all  too  old  to  learn. 

Be  patient ;  Love  has  long  been  grown ; 

Ambition  waxes  strong, 
And  Heaven  is  asking  time  alone 

To  mould  a  child  of  song. 

When  Fate  draws  forth  the  mystic  lot 
The  chosen  bard  that  calls, 

Xo  eye  will  be  upon  the  spot 

"Where  the  bright  token  falls, 

Perchance  the  blue  Atlantic's  brink, 
The  broad  Ohio's  gleam, 

Or  where  the  panther  stoops  to  drink 
Of  wild  Missouri's  stream: 

Where  winter  clasps  with  glittering  ice 
Katahdin's  silver  chains, 

Or  Georgia's  flowery  paradise 
Unfolds  its  blushing  plains: 

But  know  that  none  of  ancient  earth 
Can  bring  the  sacred  fire ; 

•Ie  drinks  the  wave  of  Western  birth 
That  rules  the  "Western  Ivre ! 


ces, 
.  be 
iter- 
L  his 
p  to 
enu 
t,  or 


aore 
bat- 

i.    I 

rait- 
few 
I  for 


e  of 

i  the 

the 

life 

tally 

•ases 

one 

respect,  indeed,  he  has  more  care  at  the  outset  of  his  career  ;  for  he  is 


<Eg|tett  IOTS, 

A    REMINISCENCE    OF    KENTUCKY, 


BY      KEY.      SAMUEL     OS GOOD. 


EVERY  profession  or  business  has  its  own  peculiar  experiences, 
and  it  has  often  seemed  to  me  that  the  world  of  readers  would  be 
wiser,  and  they  who  make  books  for  them  would  be  far  more  inter 
esting  and  instructive,  if  every  writer  would  describe  things  from  his 
own  actual  point  of  view,  trying  honestly  to  hold  the  mirror  up  to 
nature  and  life  with  his  own  hand  from  his  own  position.  The  genu 
ine  diary  of  a  physician,  or  lawyer,  or  clergyman,  or  merchant,  or 
banker,  if  recording  his  own  impressions  during  his  years  of  activity, 
would  be  as  interesting  as  any  fictitious  sketches,  and  far  more 
instructive,  wrhether  to  the  old  who  are  always  glad  to  fight  their  bat 
tles  over  again,  or  to  the  young  whose  battles  have  not  yet  begun.  I 
do  not  make  this  remark  by  wray  of  preface  to  any  ambitious  portrait 
ures  of  professional  scenes  and  labors,  but  merely  to  introduce  a  few 
slight  sketches  of  professional  travel  that  seem  quite  as  well  fitted  for 
the  present  purpose  as  any  more  elaborate  essay. 

I  have  just  returned  from  a  visit  to  Kentucky  after  an  absence  of 

seventeen  years.  I  was  at  the  city  of  L at  various  times  in  the 

years  1836-37,  and  have  never  forgotten  the  impression  left  by  the 
place  and  the  people.  The  first  years  of  a  minister's  professional  life 
are  far  more  significant  than  those  of  any  other  profession ;  for  usually 
he  takes  upon  himself  the  full  burden  of  his  cares,  and  in  most  cases 
he  has  as  much  labor  and  anxiety  at  twenty-five  as  at  fifty.  In  one 
respect,  indeed,  he  has  more  care  at  the  outset  of  his  career ;  for  he  is 


28  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

obliged  to  depend  each  week  upon  the  fresh  coinage  of  his  own  brain, 
instead  of  falling  back  upon  the  large  literary  capital  accumulated  by 
a  veteran  sermon-writer.  The  consequence  is  that  the  first  two  or 
three  years  of  a  preacher's  life  are  quite  likely  to  decide  his  destiny, 
and  if  he  does  not  break  down  within  this  period  after  his  settlement, 
he  is  pretty  well  seasoned  and  stocked  for  subsequent  needs.  It  is 
advisable,  therefore,  on  many  accounts,  that  he  should  take  what  the 
Germans  call  his  "  Wanderjahre,"  and  travel  a  year  or  two  before 
pitching  his  tent  for  permanence.  Travel  merely  for  pleasure,  or  for 
general  information,  is  dangerous  to  a  young  man's  habits  of  study 
and  sobriety  of  purpose,  whilst  travel  with  professional  aims,  for 
periods  of  service  for  a  few  weeks  or  months  in  different  places,  gives 
him  a  wide  field  of  observation,  and  prepares  him  for  his  parish  duties 
alike  as  a  man  of  practical  experience  and  of  literary  resources.  I 
remember  very  well  the  events  of  the  two  years  passed  in  this  way, 
and  have  been  inclined  to  ascribe  the  good  health  and  constant  labor 
of  the  long  time  since  to  the  influence  of  those  years  of  wandering.  1 
visited,  in  some  way,  almost  every  State  in  the  Union,  and  in  various 
cities  and  towns  remained  several  weeks,  and  in  a  few  cases  several 
months.  No  place  lingers  more  fondly  in  memory  than  the  city  of 

L ,  Kentucky. 

Contrast  is  one  of  the  laws  of  sympathy,  and  there  is  something 
in  the  electric  beat  of  the  Southern  pulse  quite  fascinating  to  a  young 
man  educated  under  the  sedate  discipline  of  New-England,  and  taught 
to  depend  upon  cool  reasoning  as  the  only  sure  path  to  the  convic 
tions  of  his  audience.  Most  of  our  young  theological  students  of  the 
more  ambitious  kind,  put  study  and  thought  enough  into  their  first 
sermon  to  expand  into  a  whole  volume,  forgetful  of  the  fact  that  it 
is  the  emotional  life  that  gives  the  sermon  its  power,  and  that,  with 
out  this,  the  gun  "  ecclesiastic,"  however  crammed  with  balls  or  shot, 
has  no  powder,  and  can  not  be  fired.  A  Southern  audience  is  sure  to 
teach  a  young  man  this  fact,  and,  whilst  fond  of  clear  reasoning,  it  is 
so  greedy  for  fervor  in  feeling  and  utterance,  as  to  have  little  patience 
with  the  speaker  who  does  not  meet  this  want.  The  tone  of  social 
life  is  somewhat  in  the  same  spirit,  and  nothing  can  more  successfully 
take  the  stiffness  out  of  the  manners  and  conversation  of  our  North 


EIGHTEEN    YEARS.  29 

em  scholastics  than  a  few  months'  sojourn  in  hearty  Southern  society. 
I  remember  very  well  the  first  impression  of  Kentucky  life.  Faults 
there  were  in  abundance  to  note,  deficiencies  of  culture,  radical  errors 
in  the  political  and  domestic  order,  yet  the  sternest  censor  could  not 
but  be  captivated  by  the  cordiality  of  the  people,  and  even  soften  his 
censure  into  sympathy,  when  he  found  that  they  were  quite  as  ready 
to  perceive  and  lament  their  failings  as  he  could  be.  From  the  first 
hearty  shake  of  the  hand  from  a  Kentuckian  on  the  crowded  landing 
to  the  hearty  farewells  that  speeded  the  parting  guest  upon  his  home 
ward  way  months  afterward,  the  same  genial  pulse  seemed  to  beat. 
It  would  be  quite  as  wrong  to  regard  this  impulsive  warmth  of  manner 
as  mere  affectation  of  generosity,  as  it  would  be  wrong  to  regard  the 
colder  temper  of  Northern  men  as  proof  of  habitual  selfishness.  The 
climate  has  much  to  do  with  the  temperament,  and  it  is  undoubtedly 
the  union  of  Southern  impulsiveness  with  the  daring  self-reliance 
incident  to  a  border  life  that  has  given  the  Kentuckian  his  peculiar 
air  and  tone. 

So  far  as  I  could  see,  the  same  electric  temper  appeared  in  every 
sphere  of  life,  certainly  in  the  serious  as  well  as  in  the  festive  sphere. 
If  in  the  conduct  of  business,  especially  of  agricultural  business,  there 
were  some  tokens  of  the  easy  gait  so  characteristic  of  people  accus 
tomed  to  be  served  by  slaves,  no  trace  of  languor  showed  itself  when 
ever  men  met  together  upon  any  interesting  occasion,  whether  grave 
or  gay.  A  revival  preacher,  or  a  stump  orator,  could  have  no  occa 
sion  to  complain  of  dull  listeners.  The  chat  of  an  evening  party  had 
none  of  the  stately  reserve  so  affected  by  English  mannerists  nearer 
home,  but  seemed  downright  earnest,  as  if  society  were  a  genuine 
business,  and  very  pleasant  business,  too.  I  remember  the  perfect 
furore  that  prevailed  during  one  of  those  semi-barbarous  races  which 
are  a  kind  of  relic  of  the  ancient  tournament,  with  this  difference,  that 
the  man  is  but  a  spectator,  and  leaves  the  honors  and  the  pains  of  the 
struggle  to  his  horse.  The  whole  city  was  in  commotion,  and  the 
rage  of  betting  infected  the  servants  and  slaves.  The  little  fellow 
that  brushed  our  clothes  at  the  boarding-house,  swelled  into  the  conse 
quence  of  a  gentleman  of  the  turf,  as  he  staked  his  half-dollar  with  a 
comrade  of  like  hue  and  stature,  whilst  the  august  head  of  Henry 


C  KXIOCEKBOCKEK    GALLERY. 

Clay,  thai  in  his  prime,  towered  up  among  the  sporting  magnates  on 
the  stand  erected  for  the  judges  of  the  course.  All  Kentucky  and  all 
Tennessee  seemed  to  be  embodied  in  those  rival  racers,  and  every 
Kentuckian  felt  an  inch  taller  when  his  own  pet  came  in  the  winner. 
Absurd  as  this  excitement  seemed  to  a  Northern  man,  so  cruel  to  the 
horses,  and  so  little  profitable  to  the  spectators,  it  was  not  difficult  to 
read  it  as  a  tert  from  the  old  book  of  human  nature.  From  tlje  very 
begmning.  the  rivalries  of  men  and  nations  have  turned  more  upon 
the  pride  of  conquest  than  die  prize  contested,  and  whether  for  an 
oaken  crown  or  a  silver  cup.  whether  upon  the  race-course  or  the  bat 
tle-field,  it  is  the  name  more  than  the  game  that  is  played  tor.  II  • 
that  would  moralize  largely  and  wisely  about  a  horse-race  would 
come  to  some  very  sweeping  conclusions  regarding  the  whole  system 
of  competition  that  rules  over  society,  and  strike  hard  at  the  habits 

_  .      -  - •       •    .  .    •      _  .  .  -      :          .   .       .  *-  . 

The  social  elements  that  presented  themselves  to  a  stranger's 
observation  in  various  circles,  were  in  many  respects  of  the  most 
heterogeneous  kind,  yet  seemed  all  pervaded  by  the  same  stirring 
leaven.  The  New-Englander  and  the  Englishman,  with  their  cool 
temperament,  caught  much  of  die  prevailing  tone  of  geniality,  without 
losing  their  characteristic  calculation.  One  of  the  most  delightful  and 
hearty  men  in  the  social  walk  was  an  "Rnglkih  gentleman  who  had 
come  out  to  seek  his  fortune  with  a  young  wife  and  slender  patri 
mony  in  that  then  lar  country.  The  brother  of  one  of  our  most  ideal 
and  gifted  poets,  he  did  not  lose  sight  of  the  ideal  world  in  the  pro- 
sue  business  of  a  lumber-merchant,  He  was  always  ready  for  a  lite 
rary  conversation,  and  took  delight,  at  any  time,  in  turning  from  his 
ledger  to  his  library,  and  from  numbers  arithmetical  to  numbers 
poeticaL  I  never  meet  with  the  portrait  of  John  Keats  now,  without 
tracing  in  las  features  and  expression  a  memento  of  this  emigrant  bro 
ther,  who  never  ceased  to  prove  that  he  was  of  kindred  blood  to  the 
author  of  -  EndymJon"  and  "The  Eve  of  St.  Agnes."  He  is  not  liv 
ing  now,  but  his  image  stands  in  my  memory  among  the  cherished 
forms  that  can  not  be  forgotten.  I  might  add  many  other  names  to 
die  list  of  notables,  but  it  is  enough  to  specify  one  person  more  whose 
acquaintance  enlarged  my  knowledge  of  human  character. 


EIGHTEEN    TEARS.  31 

Judge  S wos  a  noble  specimen  of  a  gentleman  of  the  old 

school — of  the  most  transparent  simplicity,  thorough  honesty  in  deed 
and  word,  and  unswerving  independence.  I  remember  well  the  first 
time  of  meeting  him.  His  quaint  old  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door 
of  our  lodgings,  and  the  vehicle  and  the  occupant  looked  like  speci 
mens  of  the  good  old  days  gone  by.  It  was  worth  a  thousand  miles' 
travel  to  receive  such  a  shake  of  the  hand,  and  such  an  invitation  to 
visit  him  at  his  plantation.  His  eye  had  an  almost  feminine  mild 
ness,  yet  in  its  affectionate  expression  there  was  a  latent  manHneai  as 
in  the  mild  blue  sky.  above  whose  transparent  depths  the  Son-God  has 
his  throne,  and  can  thence  at  will  launch  his  arrows  at  their  mark. 
It  was  quite  a  new  phase  of  life  that  the  days  spent  on  his  plantation 
disclosed.  Xever  have  I  seen  more  affection  between  the  various 
members  of  a  family ;  never  a  more  earnest  purpose  to  be  just  and 
kind  in  every  social  relation.  Hie  Judge  was  no  admirer  of  slavery, 
and  if  the  counsels  of  such  men  as  he  had  prevailed,  the  curse  of  bond 
age  would,  ere  this,  have  been  erased  from  the  statute-book  of  Ken 
tucky.  He  aimed,  so  far  as  the  laws  allowed  him,  to  abolish  slavery 
in  his  own  domain,  by  exchanging  servitude  for  service,  and  treating 
his  dependents  as  servants  to  be  protected.  They  looked  upon  him 
with  great  affection,  and  could  honestly  pray  that  he  might  live  a 
thousand  years.  When  an  absent  son  returned,  it  was  a  rare  sight  to 
see  the  welcome  of  him  by  the  slaves  the  morning  after  his  arrival. 
Hey  seemed  all  to  claim  kindred  with  him,  and  their  cordial  greeting 
to  Master  Josh  was  a  better  commentary  than  any  antiquarian  notes 
upon  the  redeeming  features  of  the  old  patriarchal  times.  In  becom 
ing  acquainted  with  the  slaves,  one  marks  quite  as  wide  differences  of 
character  as  among  their  prouder  lords,  I  found  in  the  two  who  took 
charge  of  the  hor?  ::e  representatives  of  characters  that  have 

stamped  their  mark  upon  the  world's  history.  The  coachman  was  a 
thorough-going  mystic,  a  believer  in  visions  and  trances,  which  he 
interpreted  to  auditors,  who  listened  with  open  ears  and  distended 

a  preacher,  as  he  and  his  admirers  thought,  of  hear 
own  ordaining ;  and.  although  occasionally  somewhat  given  to  excess 
ive  potations,  his  hearers,  with  an  acuteness  equal  to  that  of  many 
pious  white  people  under  similar  circumstances,   carefully   distic- 


32  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

guished  between  the  infirmities  of  the  man  and  the  inspirations  of  the 
saint.  The  hostler,  Cato,  was  of  sterner  school,  and  not  at  all  addicted 
to  mysticism,  or  any  kind  of  faith  or  devotion.  He  was  the  skeptic 
of  the  plantation,  and  might  have  astonished  the  author  of  the  "  Vesti 
ges  of  Creation"  by  his  constant  reference  of  remarkable  phenomena 
to  natural  causes.  When  Morocco,  the  coachman,  would  discourse  of 
the  falling  stars  as  sure  signs  that  the  world  was  coming  to  an  end, 
Cato  would  contemptuously  shrug  his  shoulders,  and  say  that  it  was 
"  nothing  but  the  brimstone  in  the  air."  The  mystic  seemed  to  have 
more  followers  than  the  skeptic,  and  when  the  Judge  tried  to  enter 
tain  his  guests  by  excavating  an  Indian  mound  upon  his  plantation, 
and  evening  shut  in  before  the  close  of  the  labor,  the  sable  excavators 
evidently  inclined  to  Morocco's  opinion  that  the  wizard-hour  had 
come,  when  the  spirits  of  the  dead  Indians  haunted  their  graves,  and 
it  was  time  to  stop  working  there. 

Many  scenes  stand  associated  with  that  kindly  home.  One  fairy 
little  form  that  graced  the  house  and  garden  walks  I  can  never  forget ; 
the  bright  child  who  cheered  us  by  her  naive  prattle  and  her  sylph 
like  dance.  Her  form  lingered  like  a  benediction  upon  the  memory; 
and  when  word  of  her  death  came  to  me,  years  afterward,  it  was  as  if 
one  of  the  lights  of  our  own  household  had  been  quenched.  When, 
in  the  March  of  1837,  I  left  Kentucky,  and  parted  with  so  many 
cherished  friends,  of  the  whole  circle  none  gave  more  brightness  to  the 
hope  of  a  return,  ere  long,  than  the  kindly  group  who  dwelt  under  the 
tall  trees  of  that  plantation,  and  day  by  day  received  the  good  judge's 
blessing.  My  course  was  homeward  to  New-England  by  the  circuit 
ous  Southern  route ;  and  in  the  five  days  after  the  departure,  every 
variety  of  climate  between  winter  and  summer  presented  itself,  until 
in  New-Orleans  I  found  fruits  and  flowers  in  abundance,  under  a  sky 
as  sultry  as  when  our  dog-star  rages.  In  due  season  I  returned  to 
New-England  to  find  its  forests  leafless,  its  gardens  still  waiting  the 
footsteps  of  the  golden  summer  that  I  had  left  at  the  South.  Years 
passed,  and  with  them  passed  many  schemes  for  visiting  old  friends  at 
the  West  and  South.  Only  after  seventeen  years'  absence  the  oppor 
tunity  came,  and  I  have  just  returned  from  Kentucky  and  the  kindly 
city  of  L .  which  I  saw  for  the  first  time  eighteen  years  ago. 


EIGHTEEN    YEARS.  33 

Every  man  who  has  any  sort  of  affection  or  sentiment  is  glad  to 
re-visit  familiar  scenes ;  yet,  there  is  something  startling  in  the  return 
after  long  absence.  We  think  of  all  that  we  have  done  and  endured 
during  the  interval,  and  our  own  daily  life,  with  its  constant  yet 
almost  unnoticed  changes,  rises  up  before  us  in  its  united  experience ; 
so  that  a  man  sometimes  needs  to  go  away  from  home  to  see  himself 
as  he  is  and  has  been  in  his  own  home.  There  are  few  men  who  can 
look  upon  the  form  and  feature  of  a  score  of  years  thus  consolidated 
by  distance  without  some  grave  thoughts  upon  life  and  its  changes. 
We  tremble,  moreover,  as  we  draw  near  the  places  and  friends  so 
long  unvisitcd.  We  fear  that  we  have  been  shaping  an  ideal  world 
out  of  the  materials  stored  up  by  our  memory,  and  that  things  and 
persons  will  seem  wholly  strange  to  us.  We  fear  that  more  friends 
than  we  have  heard  of  have  passed  away,*  and  that  they  who  remain 
will  not  remember  us  as  we  remember  them. 

When  our  steamer  drew  near  the  city  of  L ,  the  spires  of  some 

of  the  churches  were  familiar  to  my  eye,  and  the  whole  face  of  the 
country  seemed  to  answer  the  absentee's  grateful  recognition.  The 
city  had  more  than  doubled  its  population,  and  stretched  itself  out  on 
either  side  of  its  domain ;  yet  it  had  only  grown  in  stature,  without 
having  essentially  changed  its  features.  The  landing  was  crowded  by 
the  same  motley  throng  as  of  old,  and  it  is  only  when  the  stranger 
sees  the  new  squares  of  stately  houses  in  the  remoter  streets  that  he 
appreciates  the  growth  and  prosperity  of  the  place.  But  what  avails 
a  familiar  scene  if  there  is  no  welcome  from  a  familiar  friend  ]  It 
was  somewhat  remarkable  that  the  first  face  that  I  recognized  was  that 
of  the  son  of  my  kind  host  of  former  years,  the  good  Judge ;  and  it 
was  cheering  to  learn,  from  our  ready  and  mutual  recognition,  that 
Father  Time  had  not  so  set  his  marks  upon  our  features  as  to  hide 
the  familiar  lineaments.  In  a  half-hour,  the  hearty  welcome  from  his 
sisters,  two  of  whom  kept  house  together  in  the  city,  was  ample  assur 
ance  that  the  light  of  other  days  had  not  died  out,  and  that  the  father's 
kind  heart  still  animated  the  children,  even  as  when  he  was  with  them 
in  the  body.  The  welcome  was  not  limited  to  the  parlor,  but  came  also 
from  the  tenants  of  the  kitchen.  The  old  farm-servants  were  not  indeed 
there,  and  Morocco  and  Cato,  with  many  of  their  associates,  had  gone 

3 


34  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

to  the  land  where  the  law  of  color  and  caste  does  not  rule,  but  the 
smart  serving-maid,  who  had  grown  from  a  child  to  a  stout  woman 
during  the  interval,  seemed  to  have  some  remembrance  of  the  ancient 
guest  at  the  old  plantation ;  and  the  little  boy,  Bob,  who  presided  at 
the  brush,  grinned  with  all  his  might  when  I  talked  to  him  of  his  Uncle 
Morocco,  as  if  we  were  friends  and  kindred  at  once  by  that  tie  of 
association. 

Our  stay  in  the  city  was  a  succession  of  delightful  recognitions, 
deepened  yet  not  wholly  saddened  by  remembrances  of  those  who 
had  passed  away.  Our  religious  services  renewed  all  the  best  asso 
ciations  of  former  years,  and  for  five  days  the  hours  were  too  few  for 
the  discourses,  devotions,  and  discussions  which  engaged  the  confer 
ence  of  worshippers,  met  together  from  so  many  States.  It  is  not  the 
place  to  describe  the' theological  aspects  of  the  occasion,  and  I  will  only 
give  a  description  or  two  of  social  experiences. 

An  observing  man  could  write  a  good  treatise  upon  the  chrono 
logy  of  the  human  features  or  the  traces  of  time  left  upon  the  human 
countenance  by  various  periods  of  years.  This  visit  has  given  a  far 
milder  idea  of  the  ravages  of  this  ruthless  power.  My  friends  who 
were  in  early  manhood  eighteen  years  ago  are  now  in  their  prime ; 
their  look  is  the  same  as  then,  nay,  even  more  decidedly  pronounced, 
and,  like  Pat's  portrait,  "  more  like  than  the  original."  They  who 
were  in  the  meridian  then  are  now  of  more  venerable  mien,  yet  not 
one  such  face  had  any  trait  that  did  not  seem  familiar  and  agreeable. 
The  feminine  complexion  is  indeed  a  more  delicate  chronicle  of  times 
and  experiences ;  yet  the  many  buxom  mothers  in  whom  I  recognized 
the  sprightly  girls  of  eighteen  years  ago  were  but  the  same  flowers  in 
fuller  bloom ;  and  I  more  than  once,  in  view  of  a  worthy  mother  with 
a  group  of  a  half-dozen  children  about  her,  was  reminded  of  the  favor 
ite  theory,  that  even  personal  beauty  is  more  a  moral  than  a  physical 
attribute,  and  ripens,  instead  of  dying,  with  years  of  faithful  service  to 
life's  true  ideal.  What  Dante  said  of  Beatrice  in  Paradise  is  true  of 
every  woman  who  does  her  work  nobly  and  keeps  her  soul  unspotted 
from  the  world.  There  is  a  "  second  beauty,"  even  fairer  than  the 
first — a  beauty  radiating  from  a  life  beyond  that  of  youthful  bloom. 


EIGHTEEN    YEARS.  35 

The  angels  are  calling  on  every  fair  woman  in  this  world,  as  upon 
Beatrice  in  the  spiritual  world: 


,  BEATRICE!'  was  their  song:  '  Oh!  turn 
Thy  saintly  sight  on  this  thy  faithful  one. 
Gracious  at  our  prayer,  vouchsafe 
Unveil  to  him  thy  cheeks;  that  he  may  mark 
Thy  second  beauty,  now  concealed.'  " 

Setting  all  merely  poetic  sentiment  aside,  is  it  not  true  that  the 
beauty  that  most  transforms  the  character,  and  refines  and  softens  the 
husband  and  subdues  and  educates  the  child,  is  that  which  beams  from 
a  face  in  which  girlish  bloom  has  ripened  into  womanly  fidelity  and 
benignity?  Whilst  contesting  thus  the  boasted  empire  of  Time  over 
the  countenance,  it  must  be  confessed  that,  in  one  respect,  his  trans 
forming  power  was  most  startling.  In  seventeen  years,  the  infant  of 
the  cradle  grows  to  full  stature,  and  the  absentee  felt,  on  his  return, 
somewhat  of  a  Nestor  in  age  as  he  was  greeted  by  two  fair  girls  who 
were  babies  at  his  previous  visit,  and  who,  for  their  honored  and 
lamented  father's  sake,  were  ready  to  receive  him  with  something  of 
filial  deference. 

One  scene  more  only  can  be  noted  —  a  re-visit  to  the  plantation 
of  our  old  friend  already  so  affectionately  named.  We  rode  out  —  a 
goodly  company  of  guests  —  to  that  house  so  memorable  for  its 
unstinted  hospitality.  The  Judge  was  not  there  to  welcome  us  with 
his  hearty  grasp  and  benign  eye.  His  daughter,  however,  fitly  honored 
her  name  and  breeding  as  she  welcomed  her  father's  friends.  Many 
changes  had  taken  place  in  the  grounds  on  account  of  the  division  of 
the  property  and  the  encroachments  of  the  city  upon  the  country  ;  but 
the  house,  with  its  lofty  rooms,  was  the  same,  and  the  gateway  and 
broad  green-sward  of  the  great  avenue  were  as  of  old.  The  most  con 
spicuous  change  was  presented  by  the  family  burial-place,  now  inclosed 
by  a  massive  wall.  We  all  went  reverently  to  that  hallowed  ground. 
I  stood  over  the  grave  of  the  noble  father  and  the  dear  child,  the  pet 
of  the  former  visit,  who  gave  such  light  to  that  home,  and  blessed  GOD 
for  the  treasure  of  such  a  remembrance  and  such  a  hope.  The  myrtle 
covered  those  graves  with  its  rich  and  aromatic  growth,  and  birds  of 


36  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

many  hues  and  notes  sang  in  the  branches  of  the  trees.  A  venerable 
clergyman,  who  had  known  and  honored  the  good  Judge,  spoke  words 
of  consolation  to  the  large  company  of  children,  grand-children  and 
friends,  and,  leaning  upon  his  staff,  lifted  his  voice  in  prayer.  But 
even  this  touching  ministration  added  little  to  the  pathos  of  that  scene. 
The  place,  with  those  tomb-stones,  was  enough  and  more  than  enough. 
I  could  hardly  listen  to  language  touching  and  spiritual  as  that  which 
sought  so  fitly  to  consecrate  that  sun-set  hour  among  the  dead.  Those 
buried  ones  spoke  to  me  with  a  living  voice  that  rose  above  the  sad 
dirges  chanted  by  the  shades  of  all  those  intervening  years.  From 
the  midst  of  that  garden  of  graves,  where  blooming  life  sprang  from 
the  decaying  dust,  a  voice  from  the  unseen  world  repeated  the  great 
prophet's  saying : 

"  THE  grass  withereth,  the  flower  fadeth : 
But  the  word  of  our  GOD  shall  stand  for  ever." 

The  years  that  had  gone  since  meeting  those  cherished  friends  seemed 
to  rise  before  me,  and  to  chant  a  requiem  which  mingled  the  solem 
nity  of  memory  with  the  cheerfulness  of  hope. 


BY       G  E   O   K   G  E       LTTNT. 


WHEN  Greece,  in  arts  and  arms  supreme, 
Eose  sovereign  o'er  her  darkened  age, 

And  lent  its  old,  immortal  theme 
To  grateful  History's  burning  page : 

"When  words,  like  arrows  winged  with  fire, 
Touched  hearts  that  kindled  at  the  flame, 

And  Song,  reechoing  to  her  lyre, 
Heard  the  far  voice  of  coming  Fame : 

Then  Freedom  kept,  a  guarded  mound, 
That  fortressed  rock,  where  Athens  sate, 

And  Wisdom's  soul,  divinely  crowned, 
Its  sheltering  genius,  held  the  STATE. 

Resistless  Thought  its  vital  beam 
To  bard  and  sage  and  hero  gave, 

That  long  has  lit  Time's  upward  stream, 
And  shines  eternal  on  the  wave. 

This  was  her  boast,  and  is  her  pride, 
The  old  Republic's  stern  behest : 

That  mind  to  answering  mind  replied, 
And  they  who  swayed  her  were  her  BEST. 

This  wrote  her  story  with  the  stars. 

She  perished !  how,  her  annals  tell ; 
Hate,  envy,  meanness,  all  that  mars ; 

And  Folly  ruled,  as  Greatness  fell. 


OS  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Then  Force,  and  Fraud's  barbarian  will 
Rose  o'er  the  nobler  mind's  decay, 

And  sank  on  tower  and  templed  hfll 
The  twilight  shades,  that  closed  her  day. 

This  golden  moral  Eld  unrolls, 
0  proud  Republic!  to  thine  ev 

Bids  thee  love  most  thy  noblest  souls, 
For  Freedom  sinks,  when  Honor  dies ! 


of  the  Iteming. 


BT  DOSALD    G.   SriTCHELL. 


THERE  is  not  a  prettier  valley  in  Switzerland  than  that  of  Lauter- 
brunnen.  Whoever  has  seen  it  upon  a  fine  day  of  summer,  when  the 
meadows  were  green,  the  streams  full,  and  the  sun  shining  upon  the 
crystal  glaciers  which  lie,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  year, 
at  the  head  of  the  valley,  can  never  forget  it. 

I  do  not  think  it  can  be  more  than  a  half-mile  broad  ;  and  in  many 
places,  I  am  sure,  it  is  much  less.  On  one  side,  the  rocks,  brown  and 
jagged,  and  tufted  with  straggling  shrubs,  rise  almost  perpendicu 
larly  ;  and  a  stream  of  water  which  comes  from  higher  slopes,  far  out 
of  sight,  leaps  over  the  edge  of  the  precipice.  At  first,  it  is  a  solid 
column  of  water  ;  then  it  breaks  and  spreads  and  wavers  with  the 
wind  ;  and  finally,  in  a  rich  white  veil  of  spray,  reaches  the  surface  of 
the  vale  of  Lauterbrunnen,  a  thousand  feet  below.  They  call  it  the 
Dust-Fall. 

The  opposite  side  of  the  valley  does  not  change  so  suddenly  into 
mountain.  There  are  slopes,  green  or  yellow,  as  the  seasons  may  be, 
with  the  little  harvests  which  the  mountain-people  raise  ;  there  are 
cliffs  with  wide  niches  in  them,  where  you  may  see  kids  or  sheep 
cropping  the  short  herbage  which  grows  in  the  shadow  of  the  rocks  ; 
and  there  is  a  path,  zig-zagging  up  from  the  road  below,  I  scarce  know 
how.  It  would  be  very  tiresome,  were  it  not  for  the  views  it  gives 
you  at  every  turning.  Sometimes,  from  under  a  thicket  of  trees,  you 
look  sheer  down  upon  the  little  bridge  you  have  traversed  in  the  bot 
tom  of  the  valley  ;  seeming  so  near,  that  you  could  toss  your  Alpin- 
stock  into  the  brook.  Sometimes  the  green  of  the  meadow,  and  the 


40  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

sparkle  of  its  stream  are  shut  out ;  and  you  look  straight  across  upon 
the  Dust-Fall,  where  it  leaps  from  the  cliff  abreast  of  you ;  and  see  it 
shiver,  and  grow  white,  and  hear  it  afterward  go  murmuring  away 
through  its  valley-bed. 

At  other  times,  as  you  pass  farther  up,  the  waterfall  seems  only  a 
bit  of  gauze,  which  is  lost  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff;  and  the  heights 
above,  from  which  the  stream  comes,  break  into  sight  and  tower 
aloft  in  a  way  that  quite  dwarfs  the  poor  valley  beneath,  and  makes 
it  seem  a  mere  nook  in  the  hills. 

But  by  far  the  grandest  sight  of  all  those  which  belong  to  this 
mountain  neighborhood,  is  that  of  the  glacier  which  shuts  up  the  head 
of  the  valley.  It  is  not,  indeed,  larger  or  whiter  than  many  others  of 
Switzerland;  but  like  the  crown  of  a  monarch,  its  green,  lustrous 
crystals  rise  over  the  forehead  of  Lauterbrunnen,  and  charm  you  by 
such  contrast  of  the  fierce  glory  of  winter,  with  the  soft  smile  of  sum 
mer,  as  can  be  seen  nowhere  else. 

My  first  visit  to  this  spot,  many  years  ago,  was  on  a  midsummer's 
afternoon.  The  mountains  were  clear  of  clouds ;  and  their  snow-tops, 
and  the  green  spurs  of  the  glacier  in  the  distance,  seemed  to  wrear  the 
same  warm  glow  of  sunlight  which  fell  upon  the  slopes  around  me, 
and  upon  the  meadows  beneath.  I  could  see  the  brook  trailing  white 
in  the  bed  of  the  valley ;  and  the  Dust-Fall  gushing  from  the  cliff  into 
feathery,  cloud-like  vapor ;  and  the  peasants  in  the  meadows,  gather 
ing  their  July  crop  of  hay  —  yet  so  far  below  me,  that  no  murmur  of 
their  toil  came  to  my  ear ;  but,  in  place  of  it,  a  mountain  girl,  from 
a  cottage  upon  the  heights,  was  singing,  in  the  hope  of  a  few  pennies, 
a  plaintive  Swiss  song,  which  floated  pleasantly  on  the  air,  and 
mingled  gracefully  with  the  tinkle  of  the  scattered  bells,  which  the 
kids  wore  upon  the  cliffs  above.  Except  these  sounds,  a  silence 
haunted  the  whole  region.  As  I  lay  under  the  shadow  of  a  broad- 
limbed  walnut,  whose  leaves  scarce  stirred  in  the  summer  air,  the 
song,  and  the  tinkle  of  the  bells,  and  the  glow  of  light  upon  the  dis 
tant  snow-cliffs,  and  the  delicious  haze  that  lingered  over  the  Arcadian 
valley  beneath  me,  seemed  to  belong  each  to  each,  and  to  make  up 
a  scene  in  which  a  life-time  might  be  dreamed  away,  without  a 
thought  of  labor  or  of  duty. 


THE    BRIDE    OF    THE    ICE-KING.  41 

It  was  different  when  I  went  there  last.  It  was  not  in  summer, 
but  in  autumn.  The  green  of  the  meadows  had  given  place  to  the 
brown  tint  which  betokens  the  coming-on  of  winter.  The  trees  on  the 
slopes,  as  I  toiled  up  the  ascent  toward  the  \Vengern-Alp,  were 
stripped  of  half  their  leaves ;  and  the  yellow  and  tattered  remnants 
were  sighing  in  a  cool  wind  of  October.  The  clouds  hung  low,  and 
dashed  fitfully  across  the  heights.  From  hour  to  hour,  great  frag 
ments  of  the  glacier,  loosened  by  the  heavy  rains  of  the  previous 
night,  fell  thundering  into  distant  mountain  abysses.  No  sunlight 
rested  upon  the  valley  or  upon  the  ice. 

It  hardly  seemed  to  me  the  same  spot  of  country  which  had  so 
caught  my  fancy,  and  bewildered  me  with  its  quiet  beauty  years 
before.  And  yet  there  was  a  sublimity  hanging  about  the  landscape 
and  the  sky  of  which  I  had  no  sense  on  the  former  visit.  At  that 
time,  the  mountains,  and  the  air,  and  even  the  lustrous  glacier  were 
subdued  into  quiet  harmony  with  the  valley  and  the  valley-brook 
below.  Even  the  song  of  the  cottage-girl  was  an  according  sym 
phony  with  the  tone  of  nature. 

Now,  however,  the  gray  landscape,  imlighted  by  any  ray  of  sun 
light,  wore  a  sober  and  solemn  hue,  that  lifted  even  the  meadow  into 
grand  companionship  with  the  mountains  and  the  glaciers ;  and  the 
crash  of  falling  icebergs  quickened  and  gave  force  to  the  impressions 
of  awe,  which  crept  over  me  like  a  chill. 

I  began  to  understand,  for  the  first  time,  that  strange  and  savage 
reverence  which  the  peasants  feel  for  their  mountains.  And  as  the 
thunder  of  the  falling  glaciers  echoed  among  the  peaks,  I  grew  insensi 
bly  into  a  fear  of  the  great  POWER  which  lived  and  reigned  in  those 
regions  of  ice.  It  seemed  to  me  that  darkness  would  be  only  needed 
to  drive  away  all  rational  estimate  of  the  strange  sounds  which 
crashed,  and  the  silence  which  brooded  among  the  sombre  cliffs.  I 
entertained,  with  a  willingness  that  almost  frighted  me,  the  old  stories 
of  ice-gods  ruling  and  thundering  among  the  glaciers* 

The  active,  practical,  reasoning  world,  with  its  throngs  and  talk, 
was  far  below.  Greater  things  were  around  me,  and  challenged  my 
fancy. 

All  the  forces  which  man  boasts  of  were  little,  compared  with 


4~  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

those  which  made  their  voice  heard  among  the  cliffs.  It  seemed  not 
only  possible,  but  probable,  that  some  great  special  Intelligence 
reigned  over  the  giant  forces  which  stirred  around  me.  The  old 
legends  of  ice-gods  took  shadow  and  form.  I  strode  on  to  the  little 
shelter-place,  which  lies  under  the  Jungfrau,  with  the  fearful  step  of 
one  encroaching  upon  the  domain  of  some  august  and  splendid 
monarch.  I  did  not  once  seek  to  combat  the  imaginative  humors 
which  lent  a  tone  and  a  consistency  to  this  feeling.  I  would  not,  if  I 
could,  have  resisted  the  weird  impressions  of  the  place. 

A  terrific  storm  burst  over  the  mountains,  shortly  after  I  had 
gained  shelter  in  the  little  chalet  of  the  Ober-Alp.  The  only  company 
I  found  was  the  host,  and .  a  flax-haired  German  student.  This  last 
abandoned  his  pipe  as  the  storm  rose,  and  listened  writh  me  silently, 
and,  I  thought,  with  the  same  measure  of  awe,  to  the  crash  of  the  ava 
lanches  which  were  loosened  by  the  falling  torrents  of  rain. 

"  The  Ice-King  is  angry  to-night,"  said  our  host. 

I  could  not  smile  at  the  superstition  of  the  man ;  a  sense  of  awe 
was  too  strong  upon  me ;  there  was  a  feeling  born  of  the  mountain 
presence,  and  of  the  terrific  crash  of  the  glaciers,  which  forbade  my 
smiling  —  a  feeling  as  if  an  Ice-King  might  be  really  there  to  avenge  a 
slight. 

Presently  there  was  a  louder  shock  than  usual,  and  the  echoes  of 
the  report  thundered  for  several  minutes  among  the  cliffs.  The 
mountain  host  went  to  the  door,  which  looked  out  toward  the  Jung 
frau  ;  and  soon  he  called  us  hurriedly  to  see,  as  he  called  it,  the  Maid 
of  the  Glacier. 

The  bald  wall  of  rock  we  could  see  looming  dark  through  the  tem 
pest,  and  the  immense  caps  of  glacier,  which  lay  at  the  top.  The  host 
directed  our  attention  to  a  white  speck  half-way  up  the  face  of  the  pre 
cipice  which  appeared  to  rise  slowly  in  a  wavy  line,  and  presently  to 
disappear  over  the  edge  of  the  glacier. 

"You  saw  herf  said  the  host  excitedly;  "you  never  see  her, 
except  after  some  terrible  avalanche." 

"  What  is  it  V '  said  I. 

"  We  call  her  the  Bride  of  the  Ice-King,"  said  our  host ;  and  he 
appealed  to  the  German  student,  who,  I  found,  had  been  frequently  in 


THE    BRIDE    OF    THE    ICE-KING.  43 

the  Alps,  and  was  familiar  with  all  the  legends.  And  when  we  were 
seated  again  around  the  fire,  which  the  host  had  replenished  with  a 
fagot  of  crackling  fire- wood,  the  German  re-lighted  his  pipe,  and  told 
us  this  story  of  the  Bride  of  the  Ice-King.  If  it  should  appear  tame 
in  the  reading,  beside  a  Christmas  blaze,  it  must  be  remembered,  that 
1  listened  to  it  first  in  a  storm  at  midnight,  upon  the  wild  heights  of 
the  Scheideck. 


MANY,  many  years  ago,  (it  was  thus  his  story  began,)  there  lived 
upon  the  edge  of  the  valley  of  Lauterbrunnen  a  peasant,  who  had  a 
beautiful  daughter,  by  the  name  of  Clothilde.  Her  hair  was  golden, 
and  flowed  in  ringlets  upon  a  neck  which  would  have  rivalled  that  of 
the  fairest  statue  of  antiquity.  Her  eye  was  hazel  and  bright,  but 
with  a  pensive  air,  which,  if  the  young  herdsmen  of  the  valley  looked 
on  only  once,  they  never  forgot  in  their  lives. 

The  mother  of  Clothilde,  who  had  died  when  she  was  young,  came, 
it  was  said,  from  some  foreign  land ;  none  knew  of  her  lineage ;  and 
the  people  of  the  valley  had  learned  only  that  the  peasant,  whose  wife 
she  became,  had  found  her  lost  upon  the  mountains. 

The  peasant  was  an  honest  man,  and  mourned  for  the  mother  of 
Clothilde,  because  she  had  shared  his  labors,  and  had  lighted  plea 
santly  the  solitary  path  of  his  life.  But  Clothilde,  though  the  mother 
died  when  she  was  young,  clung  ever  tenderly  to  her  memory,  and 
persisted  always  that  she  would  find  her  again  where  her  father  had 
found  her  —  upon  the  mountains.  It  was  in  vain  they  showed  her  the 
grave  where  her  mother  lay  buried,  in  the  village  church-yard. 

"No,  no,"  she  would  say,  "my  mother  is  not  there;"  and  her 
eyes  lifted  to  the  mountains. 

Yet  no  one  thought  Clothilde  was  crazed ;  not  a  maiden  of  all  the 
village  of  Lauterbrunnen  performed  better  her  household  cares  than 
the  beautiful  Clothilde.  Not  one  could  so  swiftly  ply  the  distaff;  not 
one  who  could  show  such  store  of  white  cloth,  woven  from  the  moun 
tain  flax.  She  planted  flowers  by  the  door  of  her  father's  cottage ; 
she  watched  over  all  his  comforts ;  she  joined  with  the  rest  in  the  vil- 


44  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

lage  balls ;  but,  unlike  all  the  maidens  of  the  village,  she  would  accept 
no  lover. 

There  were  those  who  said  that  her  smiles  were  all  cold  smiles, 
and  that  her  heart  was  icy.  But  these  were  disappointed  ones ;  and 
had  never  known  of  the  tears  she  shed  when  she  thought  of  her  mother, 
who  was  gone. 

The  father,  plain  peasant  that  he  was,  mourned  in  his  heart  when 
he  thought  how  Clothilde  was  the  only  maiden  of  the  village  who  had 
no  lover ;  and  he  feared  greatly,  as  the  years  flew  swiftly  over  him, 
for  the  days  that  were  to  come,  when  Clothilde  would  have  none  to 
watch  over  her,  and  none  to  share  her  cottage  home. 

But  the  pensive-eyed  Clothilde  put  on  gaiety  when  she  found  this 
mood  creeping  over  her  father's  thought,  and  cheered  him  with  the 
light  songs  she  had  learned  from  the  village  girls. 

Yet  her  heart  was  not  in  the  light  songs ;  for  she  loved  to  revel  in 
the  wild  and  mysterious  tales  belonging  to  the  mountain  life.  Deeper 
things,  and  things  more  dread  than  came  near  to  the  talk  or  to  the 
thought  of  the  fellow-villagers,  wakened  the  fancy  of  the  pensive-eyed 
Clothilde.  Whether  it  was  some  dreamy  memory  of  the  lost  mother, 
or  daily  companionship  with  the  mountains  and  the  glaciers,  which 
she  saw  from  her  father's  door,  certain  it  was,  that  her  thought  went 
farther  and  wider  than  the  thoughts  of  those  around  her. 

Even  the  doctrines  she  learned  from  the  humble  cure  of  the  vil 
lage,  blended  with  the  wilder  action  of  her  fancy ;  and  though  she 
kneeled,  as  did  the  father  and  the  good  cure,  before  the  image  at  the 
altar  of  the  village  church,  she  seemed  to  see  HIM  plainer  in  the 
mountains :  and  there  was  a  sacredness  in  the  pine  woods  upon  the 
slope  of  the  hill,  and  in  the  voice  of  the  avalanches  which  fell  in  the 
time  of  spring,  which  called  to  her  mind  a  quicker  sense  of  the  Divine 
presence  and  power,  than  the  church  chalices  or  the  rosary. 

Now,  the  father  of  Clothilde  had  large  flocks,  for  a  village  peasant. 
Fifty  of  his  kids  fed  upon  the  herbage  which  grew  on  the  mountain 
ledges ;  and  half  a  score  of  dun  cows  came  every  night  to  his  chalet, 
from  the  pasture-grounds  which  were  watered  by  the  spray  of  the 
Dust-Fall. 

Many  of  the  young  villagers  would  have  gladly  won  Clothilde  to 


THE    BRIDE    OF    THE    ICE-KING.  45 

some  token  of  love ;  but  ever  her  quiet,  pale  face,  as  she  knelt  in  the 
village  church,  awed  them  to  silence ;  and  ever  her  gentle  manner,  as 
she  clung  to  the  arm  of  the  old  herdsman,  her  father,  made  them  vow 
new  vows  to  capture  the  village  beauty. 

In  times  of  danger,  or  in  times  when  sickness  came  to  the  chalets 
of  the  valley,  Clothilde  passed  hither  and  thither  on  errands  of  mercy ; 
and  when  storms  threatened  those  who  watched  the  kids  upon  the 
mountain  slopes,  she  sent  them  food  and  wine,  and  fresh  store  of 
blankets. 

So  the  years  passed;  and  the  maidens  said  that  Clothilde  was 
losing  the  freshness  that  belonged  to  her  young  days ;  but  these  were 
jealous  ones,  and,  like  other  maidens  than  Swiss  maidens,  knew  not 
how  to  forgive  her  who  bore  away  the  palm  of  goodness  and  of 
beauty. 

And  the  father,  growing  always  older,  grew  sadder  at  thought  of 
the  desolate  condition  which  would  soon  belong  to  his  daughter  Clo 
thilde. 

"Who,"  said  the  old  man,  "will  take  care  of  the  flocks,  my 
daughter  1  who  will  look  after  the  dun  cows  ?  who  will  bring  the  win 
ter's  store  of  fir-wood  from  the  mountains  f 

Now,  Clothilde  could  answer  for  these  things ;  for  even  the  cure 
of  the  village  would  not  see  the  pretty  and  the  pious  Clothilde  left 
destitute.  But  it  pained  her  heart  to  witness  the  care  that  lay  upon 
her  father's  thought,  and  she  was  willing  to  bestow  quiet  upon  his 
parting  years.  Therefore,  on  a  day  when  she  came  back  with  the  old 
herdsman  from  a  village-wadding,  she  told  him  that  she,  too,  if  he 
wished,  would  become  a  bride. 

"And  whom  will  you  marry,  Clothilde?"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Whom  you  choose,"  said  Clothilde ;  but  she  added,  "  he  must  be 
good,  else  how  can  I  be  good  ?  And  he  must  be  brave,  for  the  dan 
gers  of  the  mountain  life  are  many." 

So  the  father  and  the  village  cure  consulted  together,  while  Clo 
thilde  sang  as  before  at  her  household  cares ;  and  lingered,  as  was  her 
wont  at  evening,  by  the  chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Snow,  in  view  of 
the  glaciers  which  rose  in  the  front  of  the  valley. 

But  the  father  and  the  cure  could  decide  upon  none  who  was 


46  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

wholly  worthy  to  be  the  bridegroom  of  Clothilde.  The  people  of  the 
valley  were  honest,  and  not  a  young  villager  of  them  all  but  would 
have  made  for  her  a  watchful  husband,  and  cared  well  for  the  flocks 
which  belonged  to  her  father's  fold. 

In  that  day,  as  now,  village  fetes  were  held  in  every  time  of 
spring,  at  which  the  young  mountaineers  contended  with  each  other  in 
wrestling,  and  in  the  cast  of  heavy  boulder-stones,  and  in  other  moun 
tain  sports,  which  tried  their  manliness,  and  which  called  down  the 
plaudits  of  all  the  village  dames.  The  spring  and  the  spring  fetes 
were  now  approaching,  and  it  was  agreed  between  the  father  and  the 
cure,  that  where  all  were  so  brave  and  honest,  the  victor  in  the  vil 
lage  games  should  receive,  for  reward,  the  hand  of  Clothilde. 

The  villagers  were  all  eager  for  the  day  which  was  to  decide  the 
fortunes  of  their  valley  heiress.  Clothilde  herself  wore  no  cloud  upon 
her  brow ;  but  ever,  with  the  same  serene  look,  she  busied  her  hands 
with  her  old  house-cares,  and  sang  the  songs  which  cheered  her  old 
father's  heart. 

The  youth  of  the  village  —  they  were  mostly  the  weaker  ones  — 
eyed  her  askance,  and  said,  "  She  can  have  no  heart  worth  the  win 
ning,  who  is  won  only  by  a  stout  arm."  And  others  said  still,  "  She 
is  icy  cold,  and  can  have  no  heart  at  all." 

But  the  good  cure  said,  "  Nay ;"  and  many  a  one  from  sick-beds 
called  down  blessings  on  her. 

There  were  mothers,  too,  of  the  village,  thinking,  perhaps,  a~s 
mothers  will,  of  the  fifty  kids  and  of  the  half-score  of  dun  cows,  which 
would  make  her  dowry,  who  said,  with  a  wise  shake  of  the  head, 
"  She  who  is  so  good  a  daughter  will  make  also  a  good  wife." 

Among  those  who  would  gladly,  long  ago,  have  sought  Clothilde 
in  marriage,  was  a  young  villager  of  Lauterbrunnen,  whose  name  was 
Conrad  Friedland. 

He  was  a  hunter  as  well  as  a  herdsman,  and  he  knew  the  haunts 
of  the  chamois  upon  the  upper  heights  as  well  as  he  knew  the  pastur 
age-ground  where  fed  the  kids  which  belonged  to  the  father  of  Clo 
thilde.  He  had  nut-brown  hair,  and  dark  blue  eyes ;  and  there  was 
not  a  maiden  of  the  valley,  save  only  the  pensive  Clothilde,  but 
watched  admiringly  the  proud  step  of  the  hunter  Friedland. 


THE    BRIDE    OF    THE    ICE-KING.  47 

Many  a  time  her  father  had  spoken  of  the  daring  deeds  of  Con 
rad,  and  had  told  to  Clothilde,  with  an  old  man's  ardor,  the  tale  of  the 
wild  mountain-hunts  which  Conrad  could  reckon  up ;  and  how,  once 
upon  a  time,  when  a  child  was  lost,  they  had  lowered  the  young 
huntsman  with  ropes  into  the  deep  crevasses  of  the  glacier ;  and  how, 
in  the  depths  of  the  icy  cavern,  he  had  bound  the  young  child  to  his 
shoulder,  and  been  dragged,  bruised  and  half-dead,  to  the  light  again. 

To  oil  this  Clothilde  had  listened  with  a  sparkle  in  her  eye ;  yet 
she  felt  not  her  heart  warming  toward  Conrad,  as  the  heart  of  a 
maiden  should  warm  toward  an  accepted  lover. 

Many  and  many  a  time  Conrad  had  gazed  on  Clothilde  as  she 
kneeled  in  the  village  church.  Many  and  many  a  time  he  had  watched 
her  crimson  kirtle,  as  she  disappeared  among  the  walnut-trees  that 
grew  by  her  father's  door.  Many  and  many  a  time  he  had  looked 
longingly  upon  the  ten  dun  cows  which  made  up  her  father's  flock, 
and  upon  the  green  pasturage  ground,  where  his  kids  counted  by 
fifty. 

Brave  enough  he  was  to  climb  the  crags,  even  when  the  ice  was 
smooth  on  the  narrow  foot-way,  and  a  slip  would  hurl  him  to  destruc 
tion  ;  he  had  no  fear  of  the  crevasses  which  gape  frightfully  on  the 
paths  that  lead  over  the  glaciers ;  he  did  not  shudder  at  the  thunders 
which  the  avalanches  sent  howling  among  the  heights  around  him ; 
and  yet  Conrad  had  never  dared  to  approach,  as  a  lover  might 
approach,  the  pensive-eyed  Clothilde. 

With  other  maidens  of  the  village  he  danced  ana  sang,  even  as  the 
other  young  herdsmen,  who  were  his  mates  in  the  village  games, 
danced  and  sang.  Once  or  twice,  indeed,  he  had  borne  a  gift  —  a 
hunter's  gift  of  tender  chamois-flesh  —  to  the  old  man,  her  father. 
And  Clothilde,  with  her  own  low  voice,  had  said,  "  My  father  thanks 
you,  Conrad." 

And  the  brave  hunter,  in  her  presence,  was  like  a  sparrow  within 
the  swoop  of  a  falcon ! 

If  she  sang,  he  listened  —  as  though  he  dreamed  that  leaves  were 
fluttering,  and  birds  were  singing  over  him.  If  she  was  silent,  he 
gazed  on  her  —  as  he  had  gazed  on  cool  mountain-pools  when  the  sun 
smote  fiercely. 


48  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

The  idle  raillery  of  the  village  he  could  not  talk  to  her ;  of  love 
she  would  not  listen ;  of  things  higher,  with  his  peasant's  voice  and 
mind,  he  knew  not  how  to  talk.  And  the  mother  of  Conrad  Fried- 
land,  a  lone  widow,  living  only  in  the  love  of  her  son,  upon  the  first 
lift  of  the  hills,  chid  him  for  his  silence,  and  said,  "  He  who  has  no 
tongue  to  tell  of  love,  can  have  no  heart  to  win  it !" 

Yet  Conrad,  for  very  lack  of  speech,  felt  his  slumberous  passion 
grow  strong.  The  mountain  springs  which  are  locked  longest  with 
ice,  run  fiercest  in  summer. 

And  Conrad  rejoiced  in  the  trial  that  was  to  come,  where  he  could 
speak  his  love  in  his  own  mountain  way,  and  conquer  the  heart  of 
Clothilde  with  his  good  right  arm. 

Howbeit,  there  was  many  another  herdsman  of  the  valley  who 
prepared  himself  joyously  for  a  strife,  where  the  winner  should 
receive  the  fifty  kids,  and  the  ten  dun  cows,  and  the  hand  of  the  beau 
tiful  Clothilde.  Many  a  mother,  whose  eye  had  rested  lovingly  on 
these,  one  and  all,  bade  their  sons  "  Be  ready !" 

Clothilde  alone  seemed  careless  of  those,  who,  on  the  festal  day, 
were  to  become  her  champions ;  and  ever  she  passed  undisturbed 
through  her  daily  round  of  cares,  kneeling  in  the  village  church,  sing 
ing  the  songs  that  gladdened  her  father's  heart,  and  lingering  at  the 
sunset  hour,  by  the  chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Snow,  whence  she  saw 
the  glaciers  and  the  mountain-tops  glowing  with  the  rich  red  light 
from  the  westf. 

Upon  the  night  which  was  before  the  day  of  the  village  fete,  it 
happened  that  she  met  the  brave  young  hunter,  Conrad,  returning 
from  the  hills,  with  a  chamois  upon  his  shoulder.  He  saluted  her,  as 
was  his  wont,  and  would  have  followed  at  respectful  distance ;  but 
Clothilde  beckoned  his  approach. 

"  Conrad,"  said  she,  "  you  will  contend  with  the  others  at  the  fete 
to-morrow  ?" 

"  I  will  be  there,"  said  Conrad ;  "  and,  please  the  blessed  Virgin, 
I  will  win  such  prize  as  was  never  won  before !" 

"  Conrad  Friedland,  I  know  that  you  are  brave,  and  that  you  are 
strong.  Will  you  not  be  generous  also?  Swear  to  me  that  if 
you  are  the  winner  in  to-morrow's  sports,  you  will  not  claim  the 


THE    BRIDE    OF    THE    ICE-KING.  49 

reward  which  my  father  has  promised  to  the  bravest,  for  a  year  and 
a  day." 

"  You  ask  what  is  hard,"  said  Conrad.  "  When  the  chamois  is 
near,  I  draw  my  bow ;  and  when  my  arrow  is  on  the  string,  how  can  I 
stay  the  shaft  ?" 

"  It  is  well  for  your  mountain  prizes,  Conrad ;  but  bethink  you 
the  heart  of  a  virgin  is  to  be  won  like  a  gazelle  of  the  mountains  T 

"  Clothilde  will  deny  me,  then  TJ  said  Conrad  reproachfully. 

"Until  a  year  and  a  day  are  passed,  I  must  deny,"  said  the 
maiden.  "  But  when  the  snows  of  another  spring  are  melted,  and  the 
fete  has  returned  again,  if  you,  Conrad  Friedland,  are  of  the  same 
heart  and  will,  I  promise  to  be  yours." 

And  Conrad  touched  his  lips  to  the  hand  she  lent  him,  and  swore, 
"  by  Our  Lady  of  the  Snow,"  that,  for  a  year  and  a  day,  he  would 
make  no  claim  to  the  hand  of  Clothilde,  though  he  were  twice  the 
winner. 

The  morning  was  beautiful  which  ushered  in  the  day  of  the  fetes. 
The  maidens  of  the  village  were  arrayed  in  their  gayest  dresses,  and 
the  young  herdsmen  of  the  valley  had  put  on  their  choicest  finery. 
The  sports  were  held  upon  a  soft  bit  of  meadow-land  at  the  foot  of 
the  great  glacier  which  rises  in  the  front  of  Lauterbrunnen.  A  bar 
rier  of  earth  and  rocks,  clothed  with  fir-trees,  separated  the  green  mea 
dow  from  the  crystal  mountain  which  gleamed  above.  And  ever, 
when  the  sun  smote  hotly,  the  glacier  streams,  which  murmured  upon 
either  side  of  the  meadow,  made  cool  the  air. 

All  the  people  of  the  village  were  assembled,  and  many  a  young 
hunter  or  herdsman  beside,  from  the  plains  of  Interlacken,  or  from 
the  borders  of  the  Brienzer-See,  or  from  the  farther  vale  of  Grindel- 
wald. 

But  Conrad  had  no  fear  of  these ;  for  already  on  many  a  day  of 
fete,  he  had  measured  forces  with  them,  and  had  borne  off  the  prizes, 
whether  in  wrestling  or  in  the  cast  of  the  granite  boulders.  This  day 
he  had  given  great  care  to  his  dress ;  a  jerkin  of  neatly  tanned  cha 
mois-leather  set  off  his  muscular  figure,  and  it  was  dressed  upon  the 
throat  and  upon  the  front  with  those  rare  furs  of  the  mountains,  which 

betokened  his  huntsman's  craft. 

4 


50  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Many  a  village  maiden  wished  that  day  she  held  the  place  of  Clo- 
thilde,  and  that  she,  too,  might  have  such  champion  as  the  brown- 
haired  Conrad. 

A  rich  cap  of  lace,  worked  by  the  village  hands,  was  round  the 
forehead  of  Clothilde ;  and,  to  humor  the  pride  of  the  old  man,  her 
father,  she  had  added  the  fairest  flowers  which  grew  by  the  cottage- 
door.  But,  fair  as  the  flowers  were,  the  face  of  Clothilde  was  fairer. 

She  sat  between  the  old  herdsman  and  the  cure,  upon  one  of  the 
rustic  benches  which  circled  the  plateau  of  green,  where  the  village 
sports  were  held.  Tall  poles  of  hemlock  or  of  fir,  dressed  with  gar 
lands  of  mountain  laurel,  stood  at  the  end  of  the  little  arena,  where 
the  valley  champions  were  to  contend.  Among  these  were  some 
whose  strong  arms  and  lithe  figures  promised  a  hard  struggle  to  the 
hopeful  Conrad ;  and  there  were  jealous  ones  who  would  have  been 
glad  to  humble  the  pretensions  of  one  so  favored  by  the  village  maid 
ens,  as  the  blue-eyed  hunter,  Friedland. 

Many  looks  turned  curiously  toward  the  bench,  where  sat  the  vil 
lage  belle,  whose  fortunes  seemed  to  hang  upon  the  fate  of  the  day ; 
but  her  brow  was  calm ;  and  there,  as  ever,  she  was  watchful  of  the 
comfort  of  the  old  man,  her  father. 

Half  of  the  games  had  passed  over,  indeed,  before  she  turned  a, 
curious  look  upon  the  strife.  Conrad,  though  second  in  some  of  the 
lesser  sports,  had  generally  kept  the  first  rank ;  and  the  more  vigor 
ous  trials  to  come  would  test  his  rivals  more  seriously,  and  would,  it 
was  thought,  give  him  a  more  decided  triumph. 

When  the  wrestlers  were  called,  there  appeared  a  stout  herdsman 
from  the  valley  of  Grindelwald,  who  was  the  pride  of  his  village,  and 
who  challenged  boldly  the  hunter,  Conrad.  He  was  taller  and  seemed 
far  stronger  than  Conrad ;  and  there  were  those  —  the  old  herdsman 
among  them  —  who  feared  greatly  that  a  stranger  would  carry  off  the 
prize. 

But  the  heart  of  the  brave  hunter  was  fired  by  the  sight  of  Clo 
thilde,  now  bending  an  eager  look  upon  the  sports.  He  accepted  the 
challenge  of  the  stout  herdsman,  and  they  grappled  each  other  in  the 
mountain  way.  The  stranger  was  the  stronger;  but  Conrad,  the 
more  active.  For  a  long  time  they  struggled  vainly,  and  the  vil- 


THE    BRIDE    OF    THE    ICE-KING.  51 

lagers  were  doubting  how  the  strife  might  end,  when  the  foot  of  Con 
rad,  striking  a  soft  bit  of  turf,  failed  him,  and  he  fell.  There  was  a 
low  murmur  of  disappointment;  but  in  an  instant,  Conrad,  by  a 
vigorous  effort,  freed  himself  from  his  rival  and  was  again  upon  his 
feet. 

They  grappled  once  more,  but  the  heavy  herdsman  was  weary ; 
Conrad  pressed  him  closely ;  and  soon  the  valley  rang  with  shouts, 
and  the  champion  of  Grindelwald  was  fairly  vanquished. 

After  this  came  the  cast  of  the  boulders.  One  after  another,  the 
younger  men  made  their  trial,  and  the  limit  of  each  cast  was  marked 
by  a  willow  wand,  and  in  the  cleft  of  each  wand  was  a  fragment  of 
ribbon,  bestowed  by  well-wishing  maidens. 

Conrad,  taking  breath  after  his  wrestling-match,  advanced  com 
posedly  to  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  arena,  where  stood  the  fir-sap 
lings  with  the  laurel  wreaths.  He  lifted  the  boulder  with  ease,  and, 
giving  it  a  vigorous  cast,  retired  unconcerned.  The  little  blue  strip 
of  ribbon  which  presently  marked  its  fall,  was  far  in  advance  of  the 
rest. 

Again  there  was  a  joyous  shout.  But  the  men  of  Grindelwald 
cried  out  loudly  to  their  champion,  and  he  came  forward ;  but  his  arm 
was  tired,  and  his  cast  was  scarce  even  with  the  second  of  the  men  of 
Lauterbrunnen. 

Again  the  shout  rose  louder  than  before,  and  Conrad  Friedland 
was  declared  by  the  village  umpires  of  the  fete  to  be  the  victor, 
and,  by  will  of  the  old  herdsman,  to  be  the  accepted  lover  of  the 
beautiful  Clothilde.  They  led  him  forward  to  the  stand  where  sat  the 
cure,  between  the  old  herdsman  and  the  herdsman's  daughter. 

Clothilde  grew  suddenly  pale.     Would  Conrad  keep  his  oath  1 

Fear  may  have  confused  him,  or  fatigue  may  have  forbid  his  utter 
ance  ;  but  he  reached  forth  his  hand  for  the  guerdon  of  the  day,  and 
the  token  of  betrothal. 

Just  then  an  Alpine  horn  sounded  long  and  clear,  and  the  echoes 
lingered  among  the  cliffs  and  in  the  spray  of  the  Dust-Fall.  It  was 
the  call  of  a  new  challenger.  By  the  laws  of  the  fete,  the  games  were 
open  until  sunset,  and  the  new-comer  could  not  be  denied. 

None  had  seen  him  before.     His  frame  was  slight,  but  firmly 


52  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

knit ;  his  habit  was  of  the  finest  white  wool,  closed  at  the  throat  with 
rich  white  furs,  and  caught  together  with  latchets  of  silver.  His  hair 
and  beard  were  of  a  light  flaxen  color,  and  his  chamois  boots  were 
clamped  and  spiked  with  polished  steel,  as  if  he  had  crossed  the  gla 
cier.  It  was  said  by  those  near  whom  he  passed,  that  a  cold  current 
of  air  followed  him,  and  that  his  breath  was  frosted  on  his  beard,  even 
under  the  mild  sun  of  May. 

He  said  no  word  to  any ;  but,  advancing  with  a  stately  air  to  the 
little  plateau  where  the  fir  spars  stood  crowned  with  their  laurel  gar 
lands,  he  seized  upon  a  boulder  larger  than  any  had  yet  thrown,  and 
cast  it  far  beyond  the  mark  where  the  blue  pennant  of  Conrad  still 
fluttered  in  the  wind. 

There  was  a  stifled  cry  of  amazement,  and  the  wonder  grew  greater 
still,  when  the  stranger,  in  place  of  putting  a  willow  wand  to  mark  his 
throw,  seized  upon  one  of  the  fir  saplings,  and  hurled  it  through  the 
air  with  such  precision  and  force,  that  it  fixed  itself  in  the  sod  within 
a  foot  of  the  half-embedded  boulder,  and  rested  quivering  with  its 
laurel  wreath  waving  from  the  top. 

The  victor  waited  for  no  conductor ;  but,  marching  straight  to  the 
benches  where  sat  the  bewildered  maiden,  and  her  wonder-stricken 
father,  bespoke  them  thus : 

"  Fair  lady,  the  prize  is  won ;  but  if,  within  a  year  and  a  day, 
Conrad  Friedland  can  do  better  than  this,  I  will  yield  him  the  palm ; 
until  then  I  go  to  my  home  in  the  mountains." 

The  villagers  looked  on  amazed ;  Clothilde  alone  was  calm,  but 
silent.  None  had  before  seen  the  stranger;  none  had  noticed  his 
approach,  and  his  departure  was  as  secret  as  his  coming. 

The  cure  muttered  his  prayers ;  the  village  maidens  recalled  by 
timid  whispers  his  fine  figure,  and  the  rich  furs  that  he  wore.  And 
Conrad,  recovering  from  his  stupor,  said  never  a  word ;  but  paced 
back  and  forth  musingly,  the  length  of  the  boulder-cast  which  the 
white-clad  stranger  had  made. 

The  old  man  swore  it  was  some  spirit,  and  bade  Clothilde  accept 
Conrad  at  once  as  a  protector  against  the  temptations  of  the  Evil  One. 
But  the  maiden,  more  than  ever  wedded  to  her  visionary  life  by  this 
strange  apparition,  dwelt  upon  the  words  of  the  stranger,  and  repeat- 


THE    BRIDE    OF    THE    ICE-KING.  53 

ing  them,  said  to  her  father,  "  Let  Conrad  wait  for  a  twelvemonth, 
and  if  he  passes  the  throw  of  the  Unknown,  I  will  be  his  bride." 

The  sun  sank  beyond  the  hills  of  the  Ober-Alp,  and  with  the  twi 
light  came  a  mystic  awe  over  the  minds  of  the  villagers.  The 
thoughtful  Clothilde  fancied  the  stranger  some  spiritual  guardian: 
most  of  all,  when  she  recalled  the  vow  which  Conrad  had  made  and 
had  broken.  She  remarked,  moreover,  as  they  went  toward  their 
home,  that  an  eagle  of  the  Alps,  long  after  its  wonted  time  of  day, 
hovered  over  their  path,  and  only  when  the  cottage-door  was  closed, 
soared  away  to  the  cliffs  that  lifted  above  the  glaciers  of  Lauterbrun- 
nen. 

The  old  herdsman  began  now  to  regard  his  daughter  with  a 
strange  kind  of  awe.  He  consulted  long  and  anxiously  with  the  good 
cure  of  the  village.  Could  it  be  that  the  maid,  so  near  to  his  heart, 
was  leagued  with  the  spirit-world  ?  He  recalled  the  time  when  he 
had  met  first  her  mother,  wandering  upon  the  mountains.  Whence 
had  she  come  ?  And  was  the  stranger  of  the  festal  day,  of  some  far 
kindred,  who  now  sought  his  own]  It  was  remembered  how  the 
mother  had  loved  her  child,  and  had  borne  her  in  her  arms  often  to 
the  very  edge  of  the  glacier,  and  lulled  Clothilde  to  sleep  with  the 
murmur  of  the  deep  falls  of  water,  which,  in  the  heats  of  summer, 
make  mysterious  music  in  the  heart  of  the  ice-mountains. 

It  was  remembered  how,  in  girlhood,  Clothilde  had  often  wandered 
thither  to  pluck  Alpine  roses,  and  was  heedless  always  of  the  icy 
breath  which  came  from  the  blue  glacier-caverns.  Always,  too,  she 
hung  her  votive  garlands  on  the  altar  of  "  Our  Lady  of  the  Snow,"  and 
prayed  for  the  pilgrims,  who,  in  winter,  traversed  the  rude  passes  of 
the  Ober-Alp.  Did  the  mother  belong  to  the  Genius  of  the  Moun 
tain  ?  and  was  the  daughter  pledged  to  the  Ice-King  again  ? 

The  poor  old  herdsman  bowed  his  head  in  prayer ;  the  good  cure 
whispered  words  of  comfort ;  Clothilde  sang  as  she  had  sung  in  the 
days  that  were  gone,  but  the  old  man  trembled  at  her  low  tones, 
which  thrilled  now  in  his  ear  like  the  syren  sounds,  which  they  say 
in  the  Alps,  go  always  before  the  roar  of  some  great  avalanche. 

Yet  the  father's  heart  twined  more  and  more  round  the  strange 
spirit-being  of  Clothilde.  It  seemed  to  him,  more  and  more,  that  the 


54  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

mother's  image  was  before  him,  and  that  the  mother's  soul  looked  out 
from  the  pensive  eyes  of  Clothilde.  He  said  now  no  word  of  mar 
riage,  but  waited  with  resignation  for  the  dread  twelvemonth  to  pass 
away.  And  he  looked  with  pity  upon  the  strong-hearted  Conrad, 
who,  fiercer  and  more  daring  than  before  —  as  if  some  quick  despair 
had  given  courage  —  scaled  the  steepest  cliffs,  and  brought  back  stores 
of  chamois-flesh,  of  which  he  laid  always  a  portion  at  the  door  of  the 
father  of  Clothilde. 

It  was  said,  too,  that  the  young  huntsman  was  heard  at  night,  cast 
ing  boulder-stones  in  the  valley,  and  nerving  his  arm  for  the  trial  of 
the  twelvemonth  to  come. 

The  maidens  of  the  village  eyed  askance  the  tripping  figure  of  the 
valley  belle ;  the  mothers  of  the  young  herdsmen  spoke  less  often  of 
the  ten  dun  cows  which  fed  upon  her  father's  pasture-grounds,  and 
counted  less  often  the  fifty  kids  which  trooped  at  night  into  her 
father's  folds  upon  the  mountain. 

Yet  ever  Clothilde  made  her  sunset  walks  to  the  chapel  of  Our 
Lady  of  the  Snow,  and  ever,  in  her  place  in  the  village  church,  she 
prayed,  as  reverently  as  before,  for  HEAVEN  to  bless  the  years  of  the 
life  of  the  old  man,  her  father. 

If  she  lived  in  a  spirit-world,  it  seemed  a  good  spirit-world ;  and 
the  crystal  glory  of  the  glacier,  where  no  foot  could  go,  and  where  her 
gaze  loved  to  linger,  imaged  to  her  thought  the  stainless  purity  of 
angels.  If  the  cure  talked  with  Clothilde  of  the  heaven  where  her 
mother  had  gone,  and  where  all  the  good  will  follow,  Clothilde  — 
pointed  to  the  mountains. 

Did  he  talk  of  worship  and  the  anthems  which  men  sang  in  the 
cathedrals  of  cities  ? 

Clothilde  said,  "Hark  to  the  avalanche!" 

Did  he  talk  of  a  good  spirit,  which  hovers  always  near  the  faith 
ful? 

Clothilde  pointed  upward,  where  an  eagle  soared  over  the  glacier, 
a  speck  upon  the  sky. 

As  the  year  passed  away,  mysterious  rumors  were  spread  among 
the  villagers ;  and  there  were  those  who  said  they  had  seen  at  even 
tide,  Clothilde  talking  with  a  stranger  in  white,  who  was  like  the  chal- 


THE   BRIDE    OF   THE    ICE-KING.  55 

lenger  of  the  year  before.  And  when  the  winter  had  covered  the 
lower  hills  with  white,  it  was  said  that  traces  of  strange  feet  were  seen 
about  the  little  chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Snow. 

Howbeit,  Clothilde  neglected  not  one  of  the  duties  which  belonged 
to  her  in  the  household  of  her  father,  and  her  willing  heart  and  hand 
forbade  that  either  the  kind  old  herdsman  or  the  cure  should  speak 
aught  ill  to  her,  or  forbid  her  the  mountain  rambles. 

The  old  mother  of  Conrad  grew  frighted,  indeed,  by  the  stories  of 
the  villagers,  and  prayed  her  son  to  give  up  all  thought  of  the  strange 
Clothilde,  and  to  marry  a  maiden  whose  heart  was  of  warmer  blood, 
and  who  kept  no  league  with  the  Evil  One.  But  Conrad  only  the 
more  resolutely  followed  the  bent  of  his  will,  and  schooled  himself  for 
the  coming  trial.  If  they  talked  to  him  of  the  stranger,  he  vowed 
with  a  fearful  oath,  that,  be  he  who  he  might,  he  would  dare  him  to 
sharper  conflict  than  that  of  the  year  before. 

So,  at  length,  the  month  and  the  day  drew  near  again.  It  was 
early  spring-time.  The  wasting  snows  still  whitened  the  edges  of  the 
fields  which  hung  upon  the  slopes  of  the  mountain.  The  meadow  of 
the  fete  had  lost  the  last  traces  of  winter,  and  a  fresh  green  sod,  with 
sprinkled  daisies,  glittered  under  the  dew  and  the  sunlight. 

Clothilde  again  was  robed  with  care,  and  when  the  old  herdsman 
looked  on  her,  under  the  wreath  she  had  woven  out  by  his  cottage 
flowers,  he  forgave  her  all  he  had  thought  of  her  tie  to  the  spirit- 
world,  and  clasped  her  to  his  heart  —  "his  own,  his  good  Clothilde !" 

On  the  day  before  the  fete,  there  had  been  heavy  rain ;  and  the 
herdsmen  from  the  heights  reported  that  the  winter  snows  were  loos 
ening,  and  would  soon  come  down,  after  which  would  be  broad  sum 
mer  and  the  ripening  of  the  crops. 

Scarce  a  villager  was  away  from  the  wrestling-ground ;  for  all  had 
heard  of  Clothilde,  and  of  the  new  and  strange  comer  who  had  chal 
lenged  the  pride  of  the  valley,  and  had  disappeared  —  none  knew  whi 
ther. 

Was  Conrad  Friedland  to  lose  again  his  guerdon  1 

The  games  went  on,  with  the  old  man,  the  father  of  Clothilde, 
looking  on  timidly,  and  the  good  cure  holding  his  accustomed  place 
beside  him.  There  were  young  herdsmen  who  appeared  this  year, 


56  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

for  the  first  time,  among  the  wrestlers,  and  whom  the  past  twelve 
month  had  ripened  into  sturdy  manhood.  But  the  firm  and  the  tried 
sinews  of  the  hunter  Conrad  placed  him  before  all  these,  as  he  was 
before  all  the  others.  Not  so  many,  however,  as  on  the  year  before, 
envied  him  his  spirit-bride.  Yet  none  could  gainsay  her  beauty  ;  for 
this  day  her  face  was  radiant  with  a  rich  glow,  and  her  clear  com 
plexion,  relieved  by  the  green  garland  she  wore,  made  her  seem  a 
princess. 

As  the  day's  sports  went  on,  a  cool,  damp  wind  blew  up  the  val 
ley,  and  clouds  drifted  over  the  summits  of  the  mountains.  Conrad 
had  made  himself  the  victor  in  every  trial.  To  make  his  triumph  still 
more  brilliant,  he  had  even  surpassed  the  throw  of  his  unknown  rival 
of  the  year  before.  At  sight  of  this,  the  villagers  raised  one  loud 
shout  of  greeting,  which  echoed  from  end  to  end  of  the  valley.  And 
the  brave  huntsman,  flushed  with  victory,  dared  boldly  the  stranger 
of  the  white  jerkin  and  the  silver  latchets  to  appear  and  maintain  his 
claims  to  the  queen  of  the  valley  —  the  beautiful  Clothilde. 

There  was  a  momentary  hush,  broken  only  by  the  distant  mur 
mur  of  the  Dust-Fall.  The  thickening  clouds  drifted  fast  athwart  the 
mountains. 

Clothilde  grew  suddenly  pale,  though  the  old  herdsman,  her  father, 
was  wild  with  joy.  The  cure  watched  the  growing  paleness  of  Clo 
thilde,  and  saw  her  eye  lift  toward  the  head  of  the  glacier. 

"  Bear  away  my  father !"  said  she,  in  a  quick  tone  of  authority. 
In  a  moment  the  reason  was  apparent.  A  roar,  as  of  thunder,  filled 
the  valley ;  a  vast  mass  of  the  glacier  above  had  given  way,  and  its 
crash  upon  the  first  range  of  cliffs  now  reached  the  ear.  The  frag 
ments  of  ice  and  rock  were  moving  with  frightful  volume  down 
toward  the  plateau. 

The  villagers  fled  screaming ;  the  father  of  Clothilde  was  borne 
away  by  the  cure ;  Clothilde  herself  was,  for  the  time,  lost  sight  of. 
The  eye  of  Conrad  was  keen,  and  his  judgment  rare.  He  saw  the 
avalanche  approaching,  but  he  did  not  fly  like  the  others.  An  upper 
plateau  and  a  thicket  of  pine-trees  were  in  the  path  of  the  avalanche ; 
he  trusted  to  these  to  avert  or  to  stay  the  ruin. 

As  he  watched,  while  others  shouted  him  a  warning,  he  caught 


THE    BRIDE    OF    THE    ICE-KING.  57 

sight  of  the  figure  of  Clothilde,  in  the  arms  of  a  stranger  flying 
toward  the  face  of  the  mountain.  He  rushed  wildly  after. 

A  fearful  crash  succeeded ;  the  avalanche  had  crossed  the  plateau, 
and  swept  down  the  fir-trees;  the  trunks  splintered  before  it,  like 
summer  brambles ;  the  detached  rocks  were  hurled  down  in  showers ; 
immense  masses  of  ice  followed  quickly  after,  roaring  over  the  debris 
of  the  forest,  and,  with  a  crash  that  shook  the  whole  valley,  reached 
the  meadow  below.  Swift  as  lightning,  whole  acres  of  the  green  sod 
were  torn  up  by  the  wreck  of  the  forest-trees  and  rocks,  and  huge, 
gleaming  masses  of  ice ;  and  then,  more  slowly,  with  a  low  murmur, 
like  a  requiem,  came  the  flow  of  lesser  snowy  fragments,  covering  the 
great  ruin  with  a  mantle  of  white. 

Poor  Conrad  Friedland  was  buried  beneath ! 

The  villagers  had  all  fled  in  safety ;  but  the  green  meadow  of  the 
fetes  was  a  meadow  no  longer. 

Those  who  were  hindermost  in  the  flight  said  they  saw  the  stranger 
in  white  bearing  Clothilde,  in  her  white  robes,  up  the  face  of  the 
mountain.  It  is  certain  that  she  was  never  seen  in  the  valley  again  ; 
and  the  poor  old  herdsman,  her  father,  died  shortly  after,  leaving  his 
stock  of  dun  cows  and  his  fifty  kids  to  the  village  cure,  to  buy  masses 
for  the  rest  of  his  daughter's  soul. 


"  THIS,"  said  the  German,  "  is  the  story  of  the  Bride  of  the  Ice- 
King  ;"  and  he  re-lighted  his  pipe. 

The  storm  had  now  passed  over,  and  the  stars  were  out.  Before 
us  was  the  giant  wall  of  the  Jungfrau,  with  a  little  rattle  of  glacier 
artillery  occasionally  breaking  the  silence  of  the  night.  To  the  left 
was  the  tall  peak  of  the  Wetterhorn,  gleaming  white  in  the  starlight ; 
and,  far  away  to  the  right,  we  could  see  the  shining  glaciers  at  the 
head  of  the  Lauterbrunnen  valley. 

If  I  ever  pass  that  way  again,  I  shall  ask  the  guides  to  show  me 
the  avalanche  under  which  poor  Conrad,  the  hunter,  lies  buried. 


gnmatic  fragment 
PROM:  THE  UNPUBLISHED  TRAGEDY  OE  "PRAXCESCA  DA 


Y       GEOEGE        H.       BOKEE. 


Noi  leggeramo  un  giorno  per  diletto 

Di  LA^xcrLiOTTO,  come  Amor  lo  strinse. 
Soli  eravamo,  e  senza  alcun  sospetto." 


SCKSE.  —  A  garden  of  the  palace  in  Rimini.    FRAXCESCA  and  PAOLO. 

PAOLO. 
Bur  now  for  the  romance.    TVhere  left  we  off? 

FRAXCESCA. 

"WTiere  LANCELOT  and  Queen  GUENETEA  strayed 

Along  the  forest,  in  the  youth  of  May. 

You  marked  the  figure  of  the  birds  that  sang 

Their  melancholy  farewell  to  the  sun, 

Rich  in  his  loss,  their  sorrow  glorified, 

Like  humble  mourners  o'er  a  great  man's  grave. 

Was  it  not  there  ?    No,  no ;  'twas  where  they  sat 

Down  on  the  bank,  by  one  impulsive  wish 

\Hiich  neither  uttered. 

PAOLO.    (Turning  over  the  book.) 

Here  it  is.    (Reads.)    "  So  sat 
GUEXEVEA  and  Sir  LANCELOT."     'Twere  well 
To  follow  them  in  that.    (Tlity  sit  upon  a 


60  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 


FRAXCESCA. 

I  listen :  read ! 
Nay,  do  not :  I  can  wait,  if  you  desire. 


PAOLO. 
Draw  closer:  I  am  weak  in  voice  to-day.    (Reads.) 

•'So  sat  GUEXEVRA  and  Sir  LANCELOT 
Under  the  blaze  of  the  descending  sun, 
But  all  his  cloudy  splendors  were  forgot. 

Each  bore  a  thought  —  the  only  secret  one 
Which  each  had  hidden  from  the  other's  heart  — 
That  with  sweet  mystery  well  nigh  overrun. 

Anon,  Sir  LANCELOT,  with  gentle  start 
Put  by  the  ripples  of  her  golden  hair, 
Gazing  upon  her  with  his  lips  apart. 

He  marvelled  human  thing  could  be  so  fair ; 
Essayed  to  speak ;  but  in  the  very  deed 
His  words  expired  of  self-betrayed  despair. 

Little  she  helped  him,  at  his  direst  need, 
Roving  her  eyes  o'er  hill,  and  wood,  and  sky, 
Peering  intently  at  the  meanest  weed, 

Ay,  doing  aught  but  look  hi  LANCELOT'S  eye. 
Then,  with  the  small  pique  of  her  velvet  shoe, 
Uprooted  she  each  herb  that  blossomed  nigh ; 

Or  strange,  wild  figures  hi  the  dust  she  drew, 
Until  she  felt  Sir  LANCELOT'S  arm  around 
Her  waist,  upon  her  cheek  his  breath  like  dew : 

While  through  his  fingers  timidly  he  wound 

Her  shining  locks;  and,  haply,  when  he  brushed 
Her  ivory  skin,  GUENEVRA  nearly  swooned ; 

For  where  he  touched,  the  quivering  surface  blushed, 
Firing  her  blood  with  most  contagious  heat, 
Till  brow,  cheek,  neck,  and  bosom,  all  were  flushed. 

Each  heart  was  listening  to  the  other  beat. 
As  twin-born  lilies  en  one  golden  stalk, 
Drooping  with  summer,  hi  warm  languor  meet, 

So  met  then*  faces.    Down  the  forest- walk 
Sir  LANCELOT  looked ;  he  looked,  east,  west,  north,  south 


DRAMATIC    FRAGMENT.  61 

No  soul  was  nigh,  his  dearest  wish  to  balk ; 
She  smiled;  he  kissed  her  full  upon  the  mouth." 

He  kisses  FRANCESCA. 
I'll  read  no  more!     (Starts  up,  dashing  down  the  look.) 

FRANCESCA. 
Paolo ! 

PAOLO. 

I  am  mad ! 

The  torture  of  unnumbered  hours  is  o'er, 
The  straining  cord  has  broken,  and  my  heart 
Riots  in  free  delirium !    0  HEAVEN  ! 
I  struggled  with  it,  but  it  mastered  me ; 
I  fought  against  it,  but  it  beat  me  down ; 
I  prayed,  I  wept,  but  heaven  was  deaf  to  me, 
And  every  tear  rolled  backward  on  my  heart, 
To  blight  and  poison ! 

FRANCESCA. 
And  dost  thou  regret  ? 

PAOLO. 

The  love  ?  no,  no !  I  'd  dare  it  all  again, 

Its  direst  agonies  and  meanest  fears, 

For  that  one  kiss.     Away  with  fond  remorse  ! 

Here,  on  the  brink  of  ruin,  we  two  stand  : 

Lock  hands  with  me,  and  brave  the  fearful  plunge. 

Thou  canst  not  name  a  terror  so  profound 

That  I  wiD  look  or  falter  from.    Be  bold ! 

I  know  thy  love :  I  knew  it  long  ago ; 

Trembled  and  fled  from  it :  but  now  I  clasp 

The  peril  to  my  breast,  and  ask  of  thee 

A  kindred  desperation ! 

"  QUBL  glorno  piu  non  vl  leggemmo  avante." 


iftt, 

AN       INDIAN       LEGEND. 


Y      F.      \V.      S  II  ELTON. 


LONG,  long  ago,  on  the  banks  of  the  Upper  Mississippi,  among  the 
tribes  of  the  warlike  Sacs,  lived  a  young  woman,  who  for  the  endear 
ing  gentleness  of  her  nature,  was  called  Nit-o-me-ma,  or  Gentle  Dove. 
The  savages  in  the  wilderness  acknowledged  her  power,  though 
revealed  only  in  the  majesty  of  her  motions  and  in  the  music  of  her 
voice.  She  controlled  their  avenging  passions  by  her  glance  of  pity, 
and  disarmed  them  with  a  woman's  tears.  The  doctrines  of  the 
cross  accorded  well  with  a  spirit  so  meek  and  loving,  and  she  became 
a  Christian.  The  good  missionary  Marquette  came  from  a  distant 
land,  crossed  the  stormy  deep,  and  pursuing  his  journey  through  a 
trackless  country,  bore  in  his  hands  the  Gospel  of  Peace.  Self-sacri 
ficing  and  devoted,  he  went  upon  his  errand,  proclaiming  to  the 
benighted  children  of  the  forest  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation  with  a 
resolution  which  despised  all  dangers  and  which  knew  no  fatigue. 
How  sublime  is  the  life  of  such  a  follower  of  CHRIST  !  But  alas  !  the 
disciple  was  treated  as  his  master.  His  benevolent  designs  were 
soon  mistaken,  and  ascribed  to  motives  base  and  mercenary.  Escap 
ing  from  his  pursuers,  he  went  into  a  solitary  place  to  pray.  When 
they  came  up  with  him  he  was  discovered  on  his  knees.  It  is  said 
that  they  drew  their  bows,  but,  observing  that  he  did  not  move,  they 
approached  and  found  him  dead. 

Soon  after  this,  Gentle  Dove  was  married  to  Omaint-si-ar-nah,  son 
of  the  nation's  chief.  Beautiful  and  manly  in  person,  tall  and  athletic, 


64  KNICKERBOCKER   GALLERY. 

with  features  regular  and  handsome,  skillful  and  adroit  in  the  use  of 
the  bow  and  in  casting  the  javelin,  in  battle  bold  and  daring,  like  his 
sire,  he  was,  moreover,  the  faithful  friend,  the  kind  husband,  the 
generous  host ;  but  he  was  in  temper  sanguine,  credulous,  and 
jealous. 

Scarcely  had  Gentle  Dove  become  his  bride,  even  with  the  first 
waning  moon  which  made  her  his,  when  a  sudden  war-whoop  broke 
upon  this  dream  of  bliss.  No  more  the  lovers  walked  within  the 
silent  forest  or  shot  the  rapids  in  their  light  canoe.  Tender  and  im 
passioned  was  their  early  parting ;  and  should  they  never  see  each 
other  more  upon  the  transitory  earth,  they  vowed  to  meet  unchanged 
in  love  upon  the  shadowy  confines  of  the  spirit-land.  Omaint-si-ar-nah 
smoothed  the  tresses  of  his  Gentle  Dove,  held  her  hand  in  momentary 
silence,  then  turned  his  back,  and  walked  erect  to  meet  his  warriors 
in  the  grove.  Towering  above  the  naked  and  be-painted  group,  he 
waved  his  arm,  and  with  a  bold  untutored  eloquence,  he  recounted 
insults  and  kindled  up  the  passion  of  revenge.  Wild  gestures,  and  a 
yell  more  dreadful  than  the  beasts  make  in  concert,  attested  that 
his  words  had  taken  effect.  Calling  Que-la-wah,  "  Faithful  Friend,"  he 
walked  aside,  and  bade  him  save  his  scalping-knife  and  unstring  his 
supple  bow.  He  could  have  no  part  in  the  present  foray,  although 
he  was  a  warrior  of  approved  renown.  Que-la-wah  must  remain 
behind,  and  to  his  good  protection  during  her  lord's  absence  he  com 
mitted  Gentle  Dove.  Then,  having  received  assurance,  the  chief  once 
more  called  his  band  around  him,  and  marched  without  delay  to  take 
revenge  upon  the  distant  tribes. 

The  art  of  writing  was  unknown ;  but  every  month  he  sent  a  trusty 
courier  from  his  camp  with  a  verbal  message  to  his  wife,  and  received 
her  missives  in  return.  Loitering  and  tedious  was  this  method  for  the 
impatience  of  affection,  but  dearer  than  volumes  were  the  true  words 
when  they  arrived.  Omaint-si-ar-nah  sometimes  drank  them  into  his 
ear  as  he  reclined  by  the  camp-fires  at  midnight,  and  the  music  of 
water-falls  was  not  so  sweet.  They  nerved  his  arm  for  a  score  of 
battles,  though  but  the  plaining  of  a  dove.  How  welcome  the  sur 
prises  when  he  heard  the  dry  leaves  crackling,  and  seized  his  bow  and 
stole  without  the  tent,  expecting  an  enemy  in  ambush,  and  lo !  a  mes- 


GENTLE    DOVE.  65 

senger  from  his  love !  Thus  to  and  fro,  like  shining  arrows  shot  and 
returned,  were  reciprocated  these  missives  of  two  faithful  hearts, 
until  they  suddenly  ceased.  Omaint-si-ar-nah  walked  in  gloom.  He 
thought  his  courier  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  foe. 

Que-la-wah,  "  Faithful  Friend,"  had  become  enamored  of  Gentle 
Dove,  and  sought  by  every  means  to  win  her  from  her  rightful  lord. 
She  spurned  his  offers  with  indignation,  but  he  did  not  cease  to  tor 
ment  her  with  his  appeals.  The  old  and  the  very  young  were  all  who 
remained  in  the  tribe,  and  she  needed  protection  from  her  protector. 
Meantime,  being  much  perplexed  in  spirit,  she  had  a  dream.  An 
awful  form  stood  before  her,  and  told  her  that  the  Virgin  loved  her, 
and  promised  to  reveal  the  future  to  her  eyes.  What  she  had  suf 
fered  from  Que-la-wah  was  but  a  beginning  of  greater  woes  to  come ; 
for  he  in  whom  her  soul  delighted  should  be  deceived,  forsake  his 
faithful  wife,  and  she  should  narrowly  escape  with  life.  Moreover, 
there  should  be  a  strife  for  empire,  and  a  race  of  white  men  who  had 
gained  a  footing  near  the  rising  sun,  from  small  beginnings  should 
sweep  over  and  subdue  the  entire  land.  Still  her  own  nation  should 
not  be  without  renown,  for  lo !  a  chief  should  arise  who  should  bear 
sway  over  many  tribes,  and  lead  his  warriors  to  successful  battles ; 
and  when  at  last  his  limbs  should  be  bound  in  fetters,  his  soul  would 
be  unsubdued :  his  name  should  never  perish,  and  the  Holy  Virgin 
would  vouchsafe  protection  to  Gentle  Dove. 

Omaint-si-ar-nah  dispatched  another  messenger.  Meantime,  Que- 
la-wah,  finding  that  his  proffers  were  rejected,  vowed  revenge.  He 
bribed  the  courier  whom  the  chieftain  sent  with  tidings  to  his  wife,  so 
that  she  received  them  not,  and  returned  no  answer ;  but  he  bore 
back  word  that  he  had  delivered  them,  and  that  Gentle  Dove  had 
treated  them  with  marked  contempt ;  that  she  was  inconstant  and 
abandoned,  and  had  violated  her  pledge.  On  the  receipt  of  these 
cruel  tidings,  the  chief  went  into  a  paroxysm  of  rage.  He  commanded 
those  who  stood  near  him  to  draw  their  bows  and  shoot  him.  As 
none  obeyed,  he  was  about  to  drive  a  dart  into  his  own  breast,  but 
the  weapon  was  wrested  from  his  hand.  Then  the  flame  of  love  being 
quite  extinguished,  a  violent  hate  reigned  in  its  place,  and  he  resolved 
that  the  base  woman  who  had  betrayed  his  hopes  should  speedily  die. 

5 


06  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

He  dispatched  an  emissary,  to  whom  he  gave  secret  orders  to  entice 
his  wife  into  the  forest,  under  pretence  that  he  bore  tidings  from  her 
lord,  when  he  should  slay  her,  and  immediately  return  to  the  camp, 
bringing  with  him  a  lock  of  her  hair  as  a  pledge  that  his  errand  had 
been  accomplished. 

The  round  orb  of  the  setting  sun  was  just  visible  above  the  waves 
of  the  yellow  Mississippi.  Nito-me-ma  stood  in  the  door  of  her  tent, 
weeping  and  dejected,  pressing  to  her  bosom  her  new-born  child,  and 
sometimes,  according  to  the  faith  which  she  had  imbibed,  appealing  to 
the  protection  of  the  Virgin,  sobbing  out  in  short  ejaculations,  "  O 
sweet  Mary,  holy  Mary,  Mother  of  GOD,  pray  for  me  !"  Thus 
engaged  in  devotion,  her  eyes  were  uplifted  to  heaven ;  but  when 
again  they  were  cast  downward,  a  strange  form  stood  before  her.  So 
stealthily  had  he  glided  through  the  thickets,  that  his  presence  was 
like  that  of  a  spirit.  For  a  moment  he  stood  erect  in  silence,  as  if 
spell-bound  by  her  charms. 

Tha  expression  of  maternal  love  added  a  new  grace  to  the  pale 
face  of  the  poor  child  of  sorrow,  and  her  bright  yet  tender  eyes  were 
brimming  over  with  tears.  Her  hair,  as  if  unloosed  on  purpose  to  be 
rifled  for  the  sacrificial  token,  fell  upon  her  glossy  shoulders  and 
almost  touched  the  ground,  and,  like  a  mute  and  unoffending  victim, 
ready  for  the  altar,  she  stood  as  if  to  wait  the  mandate  of  the  avenging 
priest. 

The  stranger  stretched  his  naked  arm,  and  pointed  with  his  finger 
to  the  sun.  "  See !"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice  like  a  whisper,  "  he  is 
departing ;  the  day  is  almost  dead.  The  winds  cease  to  move  the 
tree-leaves ;  the  waves  cease  to  murmur.  But  it  is  not  dark ;  it  is 
not  silent.  Go  with  me  to  the  deepest  thicket  at  a  distance  from  the 
curling  smoke  of  tents.  Over  the  mountains  I  have  come,  through 
the  rivers.  A  message  sent  so  far  for  one  beloved  is  not  for  common 
ears.  Fear  not,  Gentle  Dove !" 

Trembling  and  agitated,  still  pressing  her  babe  to  her  breast  and 
praying  as  she  went,  she  followed  his  footsteps,  which  were  rapid,  so 
that  she  could  scarce  keep  pace  with  them,  with  her  burden  in  her 
arms.  It  was  nearly  dark  w^hen,  arriving  at  a  most  secluded  spot,  her 
guide  suddenly  turned,  and  without  the  delay  of  a  moment,  as  if  he 


GENTLE    DOVE.  67 

feared  that  pity  might  gain  the  mastery  over  him  in  the  sight  of  so 
much  beauty,  assumed  a  stern  aspect,  and  commanded  her  to  lay  down 
her  child. 

"  Nito-me-ma !"  he  exclaimed,  "  prepare  to  die  instantly,  as  the 
penalty  of  unfaithfulness.  I  am  the  avenging  messenger  of  your  hus 
band,  and  I  dare  not  disobey  his  bidding.  That  the  blow  may  be 
surer  and  less  painful,  do  not  resist  a  fate  which  is  inevitable. 
Kneel !" 

He  snatched  his  tomahawk  from  his  girdle,  and  raised  it  on  high. 
Gentle  Dove,  who,  for  her  own  sake,  would  have  gladly  died,  looked 
on  her  innocent  child;  then,  with  a  wild,  impassioned  eloquence, 
begged  a  few  moments'  respite  to  send  up  a  prayer  to  GOD.  Her 
request  was  granted,  and  she  poured  forth  her  soul  for  heavenly  aid 
in  such  a  strain  as  well  might  make  the  angels  weep.  The  GREAT 
SPIRIT  heard  it.  The  delay  which  had  been  allowed  by  Omaint-si-ar- 
nah's  messenger  was  fatal  to  his  resolution.  Three  times  he  whirled 
his  hatchet  round  his  head,  then  struck  it  deep  into  the  trunk  of  the 
nearest  tree,  and  yielded  to  compassion.  In  truth,  his  savage  soul  had 
first  been  melted  when  he  stood  before  the  tent. 

He  spared  the  life  of  Nito-me-ma  on  one  condition :  that  she  would 
retire  into  the  thickest  forest,  and  never  more  be  seen  among  her 
tribe.  Having  exacted  such  a  promise,  he  shore  a  long  lock  of  her 
raven  hair,  gazed  at  her  in  a  long,  admiring  silence,  replaced  his 
hatchet  in  his  girdle,  and  then,  as  loth  to  go,  he  turned  upon  his  heel 
and  stalked  away.  "  I  have  disobeyed  my  chieftain,"  he  wailed  aloud 
when  at  a  little  distance ;  then  he  beat  his  breast  and  exclaimed,  "  The 
GREAT  SPIRIT  is  my  chieftain,  and  HE  spoke  to  me  from  here."  He  was 
inclined  to  turn  again  and  shield  the  unprotected  wanderer ;  but  when 
he  reached  the  river's  brink  he  flung  himself  into  his  bark  canoe, 
and  waiting  for  the  moon  to  rise,  he  slept  upon  the  murky  tide. 

Gentle  Dove,  when  left  alone  to  perish,  as  might  be  supposed,  by 
a  more  cruel,  lingering  death,  moved  slowly  onward  through  the  dark, 
she  knew  not  where.  Entering  a  deep  hollow,  she  found  it  filled  with 
dry  leaves,  and,  lying  down  with  her  child,  the  breeze  of  the  night  came 
along,  and  with  a  sudden  gust,  covered  them  lightly  with  the  same,  so 
that  the  chilling  dews  should  not  benumb  them.  More  useful  thus 


68  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

the  perished  twigs  than  when  upon  the  oaken  crowns  they  shone  in 
glossy  verdure,  and  were  vital  in  the  spring-time  of  the  year.  The 
wolves  howling  for  their  evening  repast  might  be  heard  in  the  dis 
tance,  but  Nito-me-ma  slept  sweetly  on  her  sylvan  couch,  and  feared 
no  evil.  On  the  morrow  she  rose  up  refreshed,  and  went  away  into  her 
woody  exile  far  from  her  husband's  tent.  She  would  return  no  more, 
but  GOD  would  be  her  sole  protector.  For  three  days  she  travelled 
in  the  forest,  till,  arriving  at  a  very  secret  place,  where  she  perceived 
no  trails  had  been,  she  kneeled  upon  the  sod,  and,  by  a  short  act  of 
private  devotion,  consecrated  it  as  her  future  home.  It  was  a  narrow 
vale,  sheltered  by  a  gigantic  growth,  and  without  brambles  or  under 
wood.  The  soft  green  sod  was  a  carpet  for  her  bare  feet,  and  a  pure 
fountain  gushed  up  hard  by  from  a  bed  of  little  white  pebbles.  A 
snail's  shell  served  as  a  water-cup,  and  searching  in  the  neighborhood 
for  a  place  to  build  her  tent,  a  vast  tree,  hollowed  out  at  the  base,  was 
revealed  to  her,  quite  ample  in  accommodation  for  herself  and  child. 
She  now  sought  the  means  of  life,  that  the  fount  which  flowed  in  her 
bosom  might  not  be  dry.  Roots  and  berries  would  not  supply  its 
rich  life-stream,  but  Nito-me-ma  had  not  lived  in  the  forest  in  vain. 
Wandering  beyond  the  limits  of  her  domain,  she  came  upon  an  open 
place  in  the  wilderness  where  the  sun  shone  down,  and  her  eyes  were 
delighted  by  the  sight  of  a  field  of  wild  maize.  Day  by  day  she  trans 
ported  the  treasure  to  her  habitation,  until  it  was  all  housed  and  her 
bread  was  sure.  From  the  white  husks  she  wove  a  matting  for  her 
habitation,  and  the  sweet  stalks  she  stored  away  elsewhere,  and  she 
beat  the  grain  in  a  rude  mortar ;  but  as  she  sat  in  the  door-way, 
Nito-me-ma  reflected  that  she  had  no  fire  to  bake  the-  crisp-cakes 
withal.  But  the  same  GOD  who  gave  her  daily  bread  struck  a  dry 
pine-tree  in  one  of  his  glorious  storms,  and  enkindled  its  bark  as  if 
with  the  very  sparks  of  His  pity.  From  that  time  the  flame  died  not 
on  the  domestic  hearth ;  and  when  the  shades  of  night  came  down,  it 
shone  with  soft  effulgence  on  the  mother  and  her  child.  Nito-me-ma 
found  a  sharp-edged  stone  in  the  brook,  with  which  she  hewed  down  a 
lithe  sapling,  and  having  woven  a  strong  cord  for  her  bow,  and  selected 
some  reeds  for  arrows,  she  shot  the  little  birds  and  dressed  them  for 
food,  and  she  entrapped  the  mountain  trout  in  their  fastnesses,  and 


GENTLE    DOVE.  69 

preserved  them  in  the  waters  of  a  salt  spring  which  she  discovered 
about  a  league  off  from  her  home.  She  laid  away  great  store  of  dried 
fruits  and  berries,  and  pleasant  herbs  and  flowers,  and  sassafras  and 
birch,  and  sweet  barks.  In  one  moon  before  the  hoar  frosts  had 
whitened  the  ground,  her  store-house  was  so  well  furnished  that  she 
could  have  no  dread  of  famine,  and  might  even  entertain  a  pilgrim  in 
distress.  The  furniture  of  her  abode  accorded  also  with  her  wants :  a 
bed  made  of  dry  husks,  with  a  covering  of  the  same,  a  chair  woven  of 
the  wild  willow,  and  a  slight  table  of  the  same ;  for  cups,  gourds  and 
snail-shells,  and  vessels  of  rude  pottery  made  by  her  own  hands.  At 
morning,  noon,  and  night,  she  offered  prayers  to  GOD,  and  invoked  the 
Virgin. 

Gentle  Dove  seemed  to  live  within  a  charmed  circle.  Wild  beasts 
and  venomous  serpents  did  not  find  their  way  therein,  and  the  more 
dreaded  foot  of  man  intruded  not ;  but  myriads  of  birds  flew  into  the 
inclosures,  both  those  of  gorgeous  plumage  and  of  dulcet  song  —  the 
bobolink  and  the  oriole,  and  the  pure  white  doves.  The  humming 
birds  came  in  quest  of  honeysuckles  and  the  Missouri  rose-buds,  which 
clustered  around  the  poor  child's  door.  Moreover,  the  faw^ns  skipped 
on  the  grass  before  the  hollow  tree,  but  she  could  not  find  it  in  her 
heart  to  pierce  them  with  her  arrows.  They  were  the  delight  of  her 
eyes,  and  at  last  approached  and  ate  out  of  her  hand.  While  her 
child  slumbered  on  the  bed  of  husks,  Gentle  Dove  sat  without,  sing 
ing  in  a  low  sweet  voice  the  hymns  Marquette  had  taught  her ;  nor 
were  these  moments  spent  in  idleness :  she  wove  willow  baskets,  or 
made  sandals  from  the  bark  of  trees,  blankets,  and  garments  for  her 
little  one.  Oh !  how  sweetly  it  slumbered !  —  it  seemed  to  thrive  more 
and  more  every  day,  and  in  features  more  and  more  resembled  its 
mother.  "  Morning-Glory "  was  its  name,  and  every  morning  Nito- 
me-ma  took  it  to  the  spring,  and  poured  the  cold  crystal  waters  upon 
it,  so  that  it  became  hardy,  and  its  olive  complexion  glowed  with 
health.  She  had  already  baptized  it,  but  not  in  the  waves  of  the 
fountain.  When  she  first  came  into  the  wilderness,  perceiving  that 
the  child's  foce  was  wet  with  tears  which  had  dropped  from  her  own 
eyes,  she  signed  the  cross  upon  its  forehead,  and  in  those  holy  drops 
which  welled  up  from  a  broken  heart,  christened  it  in  the  name  of  the 


70  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

undivided  TRINITY.  Swung  upon  her  shoulders,  Morning-Glory  was 
the  constant  attendant  of  all  her  walks,  no  matter  how  great  the  dis 
tance,  or  what  additional  burden  she  expected  to  bear. 

A  mother  with  her  child,  can  feel  no  solitude.  Every  place  is  a 
desert  without  it ;  with  it,  there  are  people  enough  in  the  unpeopled 
waste.  It  is  music  where  there  is  no  voice,  and  speech  where  there 
is  no  language,  and  a  host  of  friends  where  all  have  departed,  a  blue 
sky  where  there  is  nothing  but  clouds,  and  a  flower  in  the  unwatered 
wilderness.  But  this  little  wood-nymph,  in  its  hollow  tree,  made  the 
whole  ground  enchanted.  The  winds  sighing  in  the  branches  seemed  to 
Gentle  Dove  like  angels  of  heaven  which  whispered  its  lullaby.  Alas ! 
it  was  only  when  she  thought  that  her  child  was  without  a  father,  that 
this  dream  of  bliss  was  doomed  to  be  interrupted.  But  never  had  her 
love  for  her  husband  become  abated,  nor  had  such  cruel  treatment 
stirred  one  feeling  of  resentment  in  her  soul.  In  truth,  she  hardly 
learned  to  love  him  till  she  was  forced  to  pity  and  forgive  ! 

How  different  from  this  peaceful  sanctuary  the  scenes  where 
Omaint-si-ar-nah  walked  in  gloom !  With  desperate  rage  he  rushed 
into  the  thick  of  battle.  He  raged  and  ravened  like  a  wolf  upon  the 
bloody  field,  and  scalped  his  foes  and  brought  off  many  trophies ;  but 
most  of  all,  he  sought  to  terminate  a  life  \vhich  was  no  longer  to  be 
desired.  The  very  sun  was  hateful  to  his  sight,  and  so  irascible 
became  his  temper,  that  his  own  friends  would  scarce  approach  him 
in  his  fits  of  moody  melancholy,  lest  in  a  moment  he  should  strike 
them  dead.  He  had  been  deceived  by  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  in  whom 
he  trusted,  and  he  now  suspected  all  of  being  traitors.  In  fact,  he 
was  betrayed  and  blinded ;  but  she  who  was  so  grossly  injured  did 
not  cease  to  pray  for  his  preservation,  and  that  the  scales  might  be 
removed  from  her  husband's  eyes. 

One  day,  with  bow  and  arrows,  and  a  basket  on  her  arm  and  with 
Morning-Glory  on  her  back,  Gentle  Dove  went  forth  to  search  for 
eggs  of  pheasants  and  the  prairie-hen.  She  wandered  far,  and  was 
just  stooping  to  complete  her  store,  when  her  quick  ear  detected  the 
approaching  sound  of  steps.  Gliding  into  a  thicket,  she  moved 
not  and  dared  scarcely  breathe.  In  a  moment,  Que-la-wah,  detested 
traitor,  appeared  in  sight.  Low  stooping,  with  his  eyes  fastened  on 


GENTLE    DOVE.  71 

the  ground,  he  examined  footsteps  in  the  sand.  Then  he  laid  down 
his  bow  and  game,  and  first  looking  upward,  stood  with  his  back 
against  a  tree. 

"  GOD  of  Justice !"  exclaimed  Gentle  Dove,  "  nerve  thy  weak  crea 
ture's  arm  !" 

She  placed  her  child  upon  the  ground,  chose  from  her  quiver  a 
Well-sharpened  arrow  and  fitted  it  to  the  string.  Fixing  her  keen  eye 
for  the  moment  on  the  mark  she  aimed  at,  she  drew  the  weapon  to  its 
flinty  head  and  let  it  speed.  The  whizzing  shaft  just  grazed  the  ear 
of  the  false  savage,  and  quivered  in  the  bark. 

"  Lost !"  said  Gentle  Dove,  but  did  not  remove  her  gaze,  and  fitted 
another  arrow  to  the  string. 

Que-la-wah  leaped  aloft  and  uttered  a  terrific  yell,  and  leaving  after 
him  his  bow  and  game,  fled  quickly  to  the  thickest  woods.  Then 
Nito-mc-ma  inscribed  a  cross  upon  the  tree  in  token  of  deliverance, 
and  gathering  at  its  foot  the  small  wild  flowers,  she  bore  them  home 
and  wove  a  votive  chaplet  for  her  shrine. 

The  autumn  passed  away ;  the  foiling  leaves  and  sombre  skies 
announced  that  winter  was  at  hand.  Nito-me-ma  laid  up  a  great 
store  of  brushwood,  and  dry  turf  and  pitchy  bark,  and  prepared  a 
wadded  curtain  for  the  opening  in  the  hollow  tree,  and  made  thick 
brooms  of  twigs  wherewith  to  sweep  away  the  snows,  and  little  lamps 
of  clay  to  be  used  in  the  long  winter  evenings,  and  garments  of  the 
furs  of  rabbits,  and  a  soft  couch  for  her  child  from  the  down  of  the 
prairie-hen,  and  treasured  up  eggs  in  the  waters  taken  from  the  salt 
spring.  Thus  having  done  all  for  safety  which  her  knowledge 
prompted,  she  waited  without  apprehension  for  the  cutting  blasts 
and  for  thick-falling  snows.  Beautiful  and  like  a  conqueror  came 
on  October  in  the  distant  west,  with  gorgeous  plumes  and  purple 
hues,  like  hectic  flushes  of  the  dying.  A  thin  blue  vapor  floated  over 
vale  and  mountain-top ;  the  air  was  fragrant  writh  the  scent  of  straw 
berry-leaves,  while  the  still  genial  sun  encouraged  vegetation  and 
wooed  the  prairie-rose  to  bloom.  The  wild  grapes  hung  in  tempting 
clusters  from  the  high  trees  of  the  forest,  as  if  the  produce  of  the  elm 
and  vine.  Then  often  at  the  hour  of  sunset,  when  the  birds  hid  their 
heads  beneath  their  wings,  and  all  the  labors  of  the  day  were  finished, 


72  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

would  Nito-me-ma  sing  an  evening  hymn,  or  with  a  low  and  plaintive 
melody,  strike  into  a  little  voluntary  of  her  own : 

"  My  MORNING-GLORY  is  the  pride  of  the  forest : 
Nothing  so  sweet  beneath  the  stars : 

Opens  its  blue  eyes  in  the  morning  and  closes  its  lids  at  night : 
It  has  but  a  slender  support  to  lean  on, 
Tor  its  strong  prop  has  been  taken  away. 
It  climbs  o'er  a  sorrowful  ruin, 
And  its  cup,  it  is  filled  with  briny  tears. 
Wind  round  me,  sweet  MORNING-GLORY, 
And  bind  up  the  stem  which  holds  up  thee." 

At  last  the  snows  descended  and  lay  in  pyramidal  layers  on  the 
pines  and  evergreens,  and  the  air  was.  nipping  cold,  but  it  entered  not 
the  barken  inclosure,  nor  touched  the  little  nymph  at  the  foot  of  the 
oak.  Gentle  Dove  was  happy  in  those  dark  days.  The  snow-birds 
hopped  about  her  abode,  to  receive  crumbs  from  her  humble  table, 
and  left  their  footprints  all  around.  She  had  no  book  to  read  from, 
nor  had  she  learned  the  art  of  reading,  but  Morning-Glory  was  an 
opening  and  expanding  revelation,  full  of  poetry  and  irradiated  with 
hope.  At  night,  when  the  winds  howled,  and,  in  sympathy  with  the 
uplifted  head,  the  sides  of  the  living  house  in  which  she  dwelt  were 
contorted  and  sent  forth  groans  as  if  in  pain,  she  made  moccasins  by 
the  dim  light  of  her  lamp,  with  her  feet  near  the  hot  embers,  and  so 
beguiled  the  weary  time.  She  dared  not  wander  during  the  wintry 
months,  for  the  wolves  were  hungry,  and  their  howlings  could  be 
heard  for  miles  on  the  air.  Beyond  the  forests  the  illimitable  prairies 
were  covered  with  a  white  mantle,  and  the  Father  of  Waters  was 
frozen-up. 

When  the  natal  day  of  the  LORD  came,  Gentle  Dove  adorned  her 
sanctuary  with  laurel  and  with  green  twigs,  and  out  of  doors  built 
an  altar  of  pure  white  snows,  and  wreathed  it  round  with  running 
vines,  and  placed  thereon  the  dried-up  votive  chaplet,  and  she  called 
it  the  Altar  of  Deliverance.  It  was  not  destitute  of  other  offerings, 
for  the  trees  dropped  icicles,  and  covered  it  with  crystal  gems.  At 
last  the  thaws  began,  and  the  green  blades  of  grass  peeped  forth  upon 


GENTLE    DOVE.  73 

the  sunny  knolls,  and  the  blue  violets  appeared,  first  heralds  of  the 
spring,  and  the  fragrant  buds  swelled  out,  and  tender  leaves  appeared. 
Another  ordeal  had  been  safely  passed,  while  new  hope  and  confidence 
animated  the  grateful  heart  of  Nito-me-ma.  She  came  forth  from  her 
retreat,  and  erected  a  summer  bower  more  ample  in  accommodations 
than  the  one  which  she  left,  working  at  it  during  the  intervals  in  which 
her  child  reposed.  She  bent  the  crowns  of  tall  young  saplings,  and 
fastening  them  together  at  the  top  with  strong  cords,  she  interwove 
the  intervals  with  pliant  boughs,  and  having  completed  it  in  a  short 
time  moved  thither  her  domestic  goods.  So  sweetly  stole  the  hours 
away,  and  never  was  one  more  happy  in  unhappiness,  or  more  sup 
ported  when  support  appeared  to  be  withdrawn. 

The  arrival  of  the  lovely  month  of  May  awakened  a  feeling  of 
ecstasy  in  the  heart  of  Gentle  Dove.  In  that  month  she  was  born  and 
married,  and  in  that  her  child  was  born ;  nay,  more,  at  that  season 
she  had  been  converted  to  the  religion  of  the  Cross,  and  every  fortu 
nate  circumstance  of  her  life  was  connected  with  it,  and  it  was  asso 
ciated  with  a  thousand  happy  memories.  Its  balmy  breath  infused 
new  life  into  her  system,  for  she  was  somewhat  pale  and  wan  with 
watching  and  confinement,  and  again  she  hurried  forth  with  Morning- 
Glory  on  her  shoulders,  to  gather  flowers  in  the  distant  vale.  Her 
provision  of  maize  was  still  far  from  exhausted,  but  she  had  been 
obliged  to  mix  the  cakes  with  water,  and  long  ago  the  bread  had 
become  poor  to  the  taste.  Her  unpampered  palate  required  still  the 
luxury  of  milk.  She  was  just  thinking  of  this,  although  by  no  means 
murmuring,  when,  in  a  grassy  nook,  she  suddenly  encountered  a 
female  buffalo  quietly  grazing,  with  her  young  by  her  side.  It  was  as 
tame  as  if  brought  up  among  the  haunts  of  men.  She  fed  it  with 
hand's-full  of  green  and  tender  grass,  and,  unmolested,  placed  her  tiny 
palms  upon  its  forehead.  When  she  retreated,  the  cow  followed  her, 
and  never  ceased  to  track  her  footsteps  until  she  arrived  before  her 
bower.  From  that  time  she  drained  its  milk  day  by  day  in  the  hoi 
low  of  a  wild  gourd,  and  it  gave  sustenance  to  herself  and  to  her 
child. 

Nito-me-ma  used  to  rise  at  day-break,  and,  after  washing  herseif 
in  the  cool  brook,  and  offering  up  her  devotions,  she  walked  with;A 


74  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

sight  of  her  home  until  the  time  of  her  morning  meal.  In  one  of 
these  excursions  she  was  clambering  up  a  ledge  of  rocks  when  she 
dipped  her  hands  into  some  wild  honeycomb  filled  with  sweets,  and 
made  of  the  earliest  flowers  of  spring.  Thoughtlessly  she  broke  it 
into  fragments,  and  piled  the  delicious  masses  into  an  apron  made  of 
leaves,  while  all  around  her  head  the  bees  buzzed  busily  without  the 
infliction  of  a  sting.  Although  in  faith  a  Christian,  Gentle  Dove 
adhered  religiously  to  many  customs  of  her  ancestors,  so  far  as  they 
did  not  conflict  with  her  Christian  faith.  She  loved  her  tribe  and  peo 
ple,  and  her  own  dear  home,  from  which  she  was  banished,  and  she 
longed  to  dwell  again  among  her  kindred,  to  assuage  their  ferocious 
spirit,  and  to  teach  them  the  offices  of  kindness  and  of  love.  Day 
after  day  passed  away  in  her  hopeless  solitude,  and  brought  no  tidings 
from  her  distant  lord.  Yet  she  had  the  most  manifest  proofs  of  the 
Divine  protection  in  the  little  miracles  which  diversified  her  lonely 
career.  The  courier  had  taken  that  lock  of  hair  from  her  devoted 
head,  and  carried  it  to  Omaint-si-ar-nah  at  his  encampment,  who  sup 
posed  that  his  cruel  mandate  had  been  obeyed.  Hence  he  continued 
to  be  reckless  of  life,  and  did  not  make  haste  to  return  to  the  homes 
of  his  fathers. 

In  the  mean  time  Morning-Glory  increased  in  stature,  and  was 
straight  and  slender  as  a  reed.  So  soon  as  she  could  be  made  to 
comprehend,  she  was  instructed  in  the  first  principles  of  the  Christian 
faith.  In  the  cathedral-like  and  solemn  gloom  of  primitive  woods, 
each  day  her  little  hands  were  clasped  in  prayer,  and  the  whole  place 
was  rendered  consecrate.  There  was  a  music  in  her  lisping  voice, 
which  rose  to  heaven  with  a  more  buoyant  ease  than  sound  of  organs 
and  of  jubilant  anthems  in  the  temple-naves.  In  the  pure  waters  of 
the  spring,  which  gushed  up  hard  by,  might  sometimes  be  seen  a  wild 
little  picture,  the  image  of  Morning-Glory  —  her  face  stained  with 
berries,  her  hair  stuck  full  of  the  feathers  of  gay  birds,  and  her  waist 
wound  around  with  a  cincture  of  flowers.  She  was  already  skillful  in 
the  use  of  the  bow  and  in  casting  a  small  javelin ;  she  was  no  longer 
swung  upon  her  mother's  back,  nay,  in  case  of  danger  and  attack, 
Morning-Glory  might  have  been  an  efficient  auxiliary,  because  she 
could  direct  a  deadly  arrow,  and  did  not  know  the  sentiment  of 


GENTLE    DOVE.  75 

fear.  But  her  mother  did  not  permit  her  out  of  sight  for  a  moment. 
Deprived  of  her  sweet  child,  her  sole  companion,  the  spirits  of  Gentle 
Dove  would  have  sunk  beyond  recovery.  One  morning,  having  slept 
soundly,  on  awaking,  she  found  that  Morning  Glory  had  risen  before 
her,  and  gone  out  of  the  house.  In  dread  alarm,  she  rushed  into  the 
wood,  and  lifted  up  her  voice,  and  shrieked  aloud ;  but  no  answer  was 
returned,  save  the  mocking  echo,  "  Morning-Glory  !  Morning-Glory !" 
She  ran  hither  and  thither,  she  knew  not  where,  and  peered  into  the 
thickets  with  a  keen  eye,  and  tried  to  track  her  by  the  footprints  of 
her  tiny  feet,  and  kept  continually  calling  her  by  name,  weeping  and 
beating  her  breast  the  while,  but  no  Morning-Glory !  Exhausted  by 
exertion,  and  overpowered  with  grief,  Gentle  Dove  came  and  cast  her 
self  upon  her  cot  in  an  agony  bordering  on  despair.  But  as  the  day 
declined,  and  she  had  given  up  all  for  lost,  the  clear  and  ringing 
laughter  of  the  little  rover  was  heard  without,  and  she  approached 
with  two  young  turtle-doves,  which  she  had  only  slightly  wounded. 
Nito-me-ma  clasped  her  to  her  bosom,  and  her  convulsions  of  joy  were 
almost  fatal.  When  a  little  recovered,  she  thought  to  punish  her  foi 
so  wild  and  disobedient  an  act,  but  she  could  not  find  in  her  heart  to 
lay  a  finger  upon  her,  and  she  did  nothing  but  weep  upon  the  head  of 
Morning-Glory  a  shower  of  sparkling  tears. 

The  child  had,  perhaps,  attained  her  sixth  year,  and  the  life  in  the 
grove  was  but  little  varied,  when  Omaint-si-ar-nah,  tired  of  roaming, 
returned  with  his  warriors  to  the  place  whence  they  had  set  out.  His 
wigwam  was  burned  to  the  ground,  his  old  mother  was  dead,  his 
Gentle  Dove  (as  he  thought)  was  murdered.  He  walked  apart  and 
spent  his  days  in  gloom,  while  his  warriors  dared  not  approach  him, 
for  he  was  more  ferocious  and  hostile  in  spirit  than  before.  One  day 
he  was  wandering  listlessly  on  the  bank  of  a  stream,  waiting  for  a  deer 
which  was  swimming  with  its  current,  when  his  attention  was  attracted 
by  some  hieroglyphics  on  a  tree,  understood  by  Nito-me-ma  and  him 
self.  They  were  the  emblems  of  true  love ;  and,  on  close  inspection, 
he  discovered  that  some  of  them  had  been  freshly  made,  and  signified 
affection  which  has  changed  not,  and  which  is  unchangeable.  Their 
time  of  being  made  was  posterior  surely  to  that  when  she  whom  he 
suspected  had  been  accounted  false.  Then  the  sad  truth  flashed  in  on 


76  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

his  benighted  soul ;  he  struck  his  brow  with  violence,  and  groaned 
aloud.  He  took  the  raven  tresses  from  his  bosom,  sole  relic  of  his 
once-loved  wife,  and,  sitting  down  upon  a  fallen  trunk,  spake  to  him 
self  in  mournful  accents,  and  in  the  figurative  language  of  the  Indian 
tribes :  "  O  Nito-me-ma,  Dove  of  the  Forest,  Beautiful  Pride  of  the 
Prairie,  torn  away  by  cruel  fate.  Her  breath  was  sweeter  than  the 
mountain  balm ;  her  eyes  were  like  the  wild  fawn's  eyes ;  and  her 
teeth,  white  as  the  snow-flakes  newly  fallen.  Where  winders  my 
love  by  the  crystal  rivers  of  the  Spirit-Land?  Omaint-si-ar-nah's 
heart  is  gloomy  as  the  cypress-grove  at  midnight  when  the  moon 
goes  down.  His  arm  has  lost  its  strength,  and  his  feet  cease  from 
running.  O  Gentle  Dove,  come  to  me  from  the  land  of  ghosts !" 

"  The  chief  walks  alone,"  said  a  voice  almost  at  Omaint-si-ar-nah's 
ear.  He  turned,  and  Gray-Eagle  stood  before  him,  the  commissioner 
of  blood. 

"  Ha !"  said  the  former,  clutching  in  his  hand  the  lock  of  hair, 
"  you  have  executed  your  errand  well,  and  have  shed  innocent  blood." 
He  restored  the  lock  to  his  bosom,  placed  his  left  hand  on  the  hatchet 
in  his  girdle,  and  raising  his  right  arm  to  heaven,  "  By  the  GREAT 
SPIRIT  !"  he  added,  "  we  shall  both  die,  and  that  before  yon  sun  goes 
down." 

Gray-Eagle  stood  erect  and  smiled  a  moment  without  reply.  He 
walked  slowly  down  to  the  margin  of  the  brook,  dipped  a  shell  in 
water,  and  poured  it  over  his  hands. 

"  Thou  art  not  exonerated,"  said  Omaint-si-ar-nah. 

"  I  am,  Chief,"  replied  the  Gray-Eagle. 

Omaint-si-ar-nah  grasped  his  tomahawk,  and  made  a  threatening 
motion  as  if  to  strike  him  dead. 

Gray-Eagle  smiled  again,  and  did  not  move. 

"  Hear  me,"  he  said ;  "  I  have  disobeyed  my  chieftain,  but  these 
hands  have  not  been  stained  with  blood.  The  Gentle  Dove  still 
lives." 

"  Lives !"  said  the  other,  and  he  clasped  his  hands  and  stood  a 
long  time  rooted  to  the  soil  —  "lives!"  he  exclaimed  in  ecstasy; 
"  then  /  live ;  then  the  sun  shines ;  then  the  grass  grows.  Speak  on." 

"  I  never  slew  her.     I  brought  you  but  the  token  of  unchanged 


GENTLE    DOVE.  77 

affection,  and  not  the  stain  of  blood.     I  have  not  made  your  house 
desolate,  nor  your  child  motherless." 

The  chieftain  struck  his  javelin  in  the  earth.  "My  child?"  he 
shrieked  in  a  voice  which  made  the  woods  ring  again,  a  combination 
of  ecstasy  and  agony  and  surprise  —  "my  child?" 

"  Your  child !"  replied  the  Gray-Eagle. 

"  Whither  gone  ?"  said  Omaint-si-ar-nah. 

"  You  ask  too  much  of  me,"  answered  the  Gray-Eagle.  "  If  I  did 
not  take  away  their  lives,  could  I  keep  them  from  dying  1  A  man 
can  kill,  but  the  GREAT  SPIRIT  keeps  alive,  and  HE  only.  I  know  not 
where  they  are." 

"Enough,"  said  Omaint-si-ar-nah.  "All  will  be  well.  Gray- 
Eagle  soars  aloft  and  stoops  not  low."  With  the  end  of  his  spear  he 
described  a  circle  on  the  ground,  and,  placing  the  end  of  it  in  the  cen 
tre,  he  drew  many  radii.  "  To-night,"  he  said,  "  we  sleep  as  if  the 
sleep  of  death.  When  the  sun  dawns,  each  man,  yea,  every  woman 
of  the  tribe,  will  start  from  here,  and  travel  toward  the  rising  and 
the  setting  sun,  and  every  point,  until  she  is  found  whom  my  soul 
loveth." 

"  Stay !"  said  Gray-Eagle,  "  you  will  go  too  early  in  the  search. 
Punish  traitors  first  before  you  haste  to  seek  for  the  betrayed.  Your 
Faithful  Friend  is  at  the  bottom  of  this  mischief.  Que-la-wah  strove 
to  win  the  Gentle  Dove.  She  drove  him  off  with  fierce  rebuke,  and 
hence  he  vowed  revenge." 

Omaint-si-ar-nah  grasped  the  hand  of  the  Gray-Eagle,  and  while  a 
fierce  vindictive  look  flashed  over  him,  he  said,  "  To-morrow !  yes, 
to-morrow !"  then  pressed  the  lock  of  hair  unto  his  lips,  wrapped 
his  blanket  round  him,  and  sank  upon  the  ground,  even  on  the  very 
spot  where  he  had  stood  and  slept. 

Soon  as  the  first  beams  of  day  appeared,  the  chief  went  forth  alone 
to  punish  a  man  who  had  betrayed  his  trust.  He  found  Que-la-wah 
gathering  sticks  to  make  his  morning  meal.  "Base  villain,"  he 
exclaimed,  "  thou  shalt  die."  And  with  that  he  beat  him  to  the  earth, 
and  left  his  body  for  the  crows  and  vultures  of  the  air  to  prey  upon. 
Thus  did  the  spirit  of  implacable  revenge  find  place  in  the  same  heart 
which  was  just  opening  anew  to  the  genial  influences  of  affection. 


78  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Que-la-wah  suffered  not  beyond  his  just  deserts.  The  ruthless 
invader  of  the  domestic  sanctuary  is  held  a  savage  among  savages, 
and  unworthy  to  enjoy  the  boon  of  life. 

Omaint-si-ar-nah  dispatched  his  warriors  and  chosen  men,  while  he 
and  Gray-Eagle  set  their  faces  due  north  to  hunt  up  the  nest  of  Gen 
tle  Dove.  A  secret  voice  assured  him  that  she  still  lived.  For  three 
days  they  travelled  to  no  purpose,  calling  loudly,  wherever  they  went, 
the  name  of  Nito-me-ma. 

"A  cruel  husband,"  said  the  chief,  sorrowfully,  "  who  banishes  his 
wife,  puts  her,  indeed,  afar  off.  Great  is  the  interval  betwixt  them. 
Moons  wax  and  wane.  Rivers  flow.  Time  and  distance  interpose 
their  great  gulfs.  There  is  no  straight  line ;  we  wander  uncertain,  for 
the  ways  of  the  ungrateful  are  crooked." 

On  the  fourth  day,  Omaint-si-ar-nah  found  an  arrow  sticking  in  an 
oak,  and  beneath  it  were  hieroglyphic  symbols  lately  cut,  for  the 
wounded  bark  had  not  long  healed  over  them.  Here  was  the  spot 
where  the  lurking  traitor  stood  who  had  since  met  his  doom.  The 
chief  examined  the  inscription  carefully,  then  clapped  his  hands  and 
uttered  a  slight  yell.  Gray-Eagle  made  a  signal  from  a  distance. 
On  the  margin  of  a  brook  he  had  discovered  the  tiny  foot-prints  of  a 
child,  and  near  by  were  pebbles  and  smooth  stones  arranged  upon  the 
sands,  while  a  critical  scrutiny  of  the  surrounding  places  showed  that 
the  twigs  had  been  slightly  bent  aside  or  broken.  Following  these 
indications  for  several  hours,  and  often  losing  the  faint  trail  toward 
sun-down,  Omaint-si-ar-nah  paused  suddenly. 

"  I  smell  the  smell  of  smoke,"  said  he.  "  Wigwams  are  not  far 
off."  He  put  his  ear  close  to  the  ground,  then  rose  up,  tightened  his 
girdle,  and  called  Gray-Eagle  to  his  side.  "Advance,"  said  he,  mov 
ing  with  rapidity,  "  let  not  the  grass  grow  in  the  path."  As  the  day 
declined,  they  came  upon  the  certain  signs  of  a  habitation.  The  earth 
was  well  tracked  and  beaten  in  diverging  foot-paths,  the  sound  of 
voices  began  to  be  heard,  and  the  low  chaunting  of  an  Indian  song. 
At  last  the  bower  of  Gentle  Dove  appeared  in  sight.  She  sat  without 
it  in  the  shade,  engaged  in  painting  and  in  decorating  barken  sandals, 
and  busily  intent  upon  her  work.  Morning-Glory  was  feeding  the 
tame  buffalo  with  handfuls  of  the  wild  clover.  Omaint-si-ar-nah 


GENTLE    DOVE.  79 

remained  unobserved  for  a  few  moments ;  then  he  commanded  Gray- 
Eagle  to  stand  at  a  distance,  and,  silently  approaching,  stood  before 
his  wife.  Confounded  at  his  sudden  presence,  she  rose  up,  and  was 
deprived  of  speech.  A  sudden  pallor  diffused  itself  over  her  features, 
and  she  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf  in  the  breeze.  The  chief  lifted 
her  in  his  arms ;  he  pressed  her  to  his  bosom ;  he  kissed  her  cold 
brow  again  and  again,  and  as  he  smoothed  down  her  glossy  locks  with 
his  hand,  and  spoke  in  the  accents  of  tenderness,  big  tears  rolled  down 
his  scarred  and  furrowed  countenance.  Nito-me-ma  dropped  her  head 
upon  his  shoulder  and  wept,  then  beckoning  to  Morning-Glory,  lightly 
and  gracefully  the  child  came  leaping  to  her  mother.  Omaint-si-ar- 
nah  burst  into  a  loud  yell  of  extreme  delight.  He  caught  her  in  his 
arms,  adorned  her  neck  with  tinkling  ornaments,  and  called  her 
Dancing  Fawn,  and  Rippling  Rill,  and  Waving  Feather,  and  all  the 
endearing  titles  which  he  knew,  but  she  said  her  name  was  Morning- 
Glory.  She  did  not  fear  the  warrior's  savage  aspect,  and  with  her 
earliest  speech  she  had  been  taught  the  name  of  father.  Omaint-si- 
ar-nah  beckoned  to  Gray-Eagle,  who  still  kept  aloof,  and  told  him  to 
approach.  Then  Nito-me-ma  prepared  a  sumptuous  entertainment 
for  her  guests ;  smoked  meats,  and  cakes  of  Indian  maize,  and  snow- 
white  milk,  and  honey-comb,  and  dainties  long  laid  up.  Pleasantly 
the  time  passed  in  mutual  narrative,  and  on  the  morrow  they  pre 
pared  to  hurry  back  to  the  deserted  camp.  Great  was  the  joy  of  the 
whole  tribe  on  the  return  of  Gentle  Dove  and  Morning-Glory.  Three 
whole  days  were  spent  in  rejoicing.  Feasts  were  spread  in  profusion 
while  the  young  amused  themselves  with  dances  and  wrestling  and 
ball-play,  and  the  sports  adapted  to  their  age. 

The  second  nuptials  were  never  marred  by  bitterness  or  grief. 
Moon  followed  moon,  and  plenty  blessed  the  tribe,  which  laid  aside 
the  hatchet  as  if  a  peaceful  angel  came  into  their  midst.  A  Christian 
church  now  stands  upon  the  spot  where  the  poor  pilgrim  raised  her 
cross  within  the  hollow  of  the  tree,  and  the  sweet  sound  of  Sunday 
chimes  invites  the  worshippers  of  GOD.  Omaint-si-ar-nah  lost  his 
savage  nature,  though  he  did  not  openly  profess  the  faith  of  CHRIST  ; 
but  when  the  evening  of  his  days  came  on,  and  she  who  had  been  true 
to  him  till  death  slept  with  her  fathers  in  the  quiet  grave,  to  children 


80  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

grouped  around  in  listening  attitudes,  the  old  man  loved  to  call  up 
memories  of  the  past,  and  tell  the  story  of  his  long-lost  GENTLE 
DOVE. 

NOTE.  —  For  many  of  the  facts  contained  in  the  above  legend,  the  author  is 
indebted  to  a  poem  called  "  BLACK  HAWK,"  written  by  ELBERT  H.  SMITH. 


BY   WILLIAM   CULLEN   BRYANT. 


STAND  here  by  my  side  and  turn,  I  pray, 
On  the  lake  below  thy  gentle  eyes ; 

The  clouds  hang  over  it,  heavy  and  gray, 
And  dark  and  silent  the  water  lies ; 

And  out  of  that  frozen  mist  the  snow 

In  wavering  flakes  begins  to  flow ; 
Flake  after  flake, 

They  sink  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

See  how  in  a  living  swarm  they  come 

From  the  chambers  beyond  that  misty  veil. 

Some  hover  awhile  in  air,  and  some 
Rush  prone  from  the  sky  like  summer  haiL 

All,  dropping  swiftly  or  setth'ng  slow, 

Meet  and  are  still  in  the  depth  below ; 
Flake  after  flake, 

Dissolved  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 


Here  delicate  snow-stars,  out  of  the  cloud 

Come  floating  downward  in  airy  play, 
Like  spangles  dropped  from  the  glistening  crowd 

That  whiten  by  night  the  milky  way ; 
There  broader  and  burlier  masses  fall ; 
The  sullen  water  buries  them  all; 

Flake  after  flake, 

All  drowned  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 
6 


82 


KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY". 

And  some,  as  on  tender  wings  they  glide 
From  their  chilly  birth-cloud,  dim  and  gray, 

Are  joined  in  their  fall,  and,  side  by  side, 
Come  clinging  along  their  unsteady  way ; 

As  friend  with  friend  or  husband  with  wife 

Makes  hand  in  hand  the  passage  of  life ; 
Each  mated  flake 

Soon  sinks  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

Lo !  while  we  are  gazing,  in  swifter  haste 
Stream  down  the  snows,  till  the  air  is  white, 

As,  myriads  by  myriads  madly  chased, 
They  fling  themselves  from  their  shadowy  height. 

The  fah1  frail  creatures  of  middle  sky, 

What  speed  they  make  with  their  grave  so  nigh ; 
Flake  after  flake, 

To  lie  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake  1 

I  see  in  thy  gentle  eyes  a  tear ; 

They  turn  to  me  in  sorrowful  thought ; 
Thou  thinkest  of  friends,  the  good  and  dear, 

Who  were  for  a  time  and  now  are  not ; 
Like  these  fair  children  of  cloud  and  frost, 
That  glisten  a  moment,  and  then  are  lost, 

Flake  after  flake, 
All  lost  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 


Yet  look  again,  for  the  clouds  divide ; 

A  gleam  of  blue  on  the  water  lies ; 
And  far  away,  on  the  mountain  side, 

A  sunbeam  falls  from  the  opening  skies. 
But  the  hurrying  host  that  flew  between 
The  cloud  and  the  water  no  more  is  seen ; 

Flake  after  flake, 
At  rest  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 


&  Sag  at  St. 

PROM    THE    LOO-BOOK    OF     MY     HOMEWARD    VOYAGE, 


BY     BAYARD    TAYLOB. 


THE  three  passengers  on  board  of  the  elipper-ship  Sea-Serpent, 
"bound  from  Whampoa  to  New- York,  were  greatly  delighted  to  learn 
from  Capt.  Howland,  on  the  day  when  they  crossed  the  tropic  of 
Capricorn,  that  the  water  was  getting  short,  and  he  had  therefore 
decided  to  touch  at  St.  Helena  for  a  fresh  supply.  We  had  already 
been  more  than  sixty  days  on  board,  and  the  sea,  with  all  its  wonder 
ful  fascination,  was  growing  monotonous.  Here  was  an  event  which, 
in  addition  to  its  positive  interest,  would  give  us  at  least  five  days  of 
anticipation  and  a  week  of  active  remembrance,  virtually  shortening 
our  voyage  to  that  extent ;  for  at  sea  we  measure  time  less  by  the 
calendar  than  by  our  individual  sense  of  its  duration.  I  have  spent 
several  months  on  shipboard,  when,  according  to  the  almanac,  barely 
a  fortnight  had  elapsed. 

The  trade-wind  bore  us  slowly  northward,  and  when  I  went  on 
deck  at  sunrise,  four  days  afterward,  St.  Helena  was  in  sight,  about 
twenty-five  miles  distant.  It  was  a  dark-blue  mass,  filling  about 
twenty  degrees  of  the  horizon,  and  of  nearly  uniform  elevation  above 
the  sea,  but  gradually  resolved  itself  into  sharper  and  more  broken 
outlines  as  we  approached.  Except  upon  a  lofty  terrace  on  the 
southern  side,  where  there  was  a  tinge  of  green  and  some  traces  of 
fields,  the  coast  presented  a  frightfully  rocky  and  inhospitable  appear 
ance.  Nevertheless  it  displayed  some  grand  effects  of  coloring.  The 
walls  of  naked  rock,  several  hundred  feet  high,  which  rose  boldly 


84  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

from  the  sea,  in  some  places  overhanging  their  base,  were  tinted 
as  by 

"the  deep-blue  gloom 
Of  thunder-shower," 

the  hollow  chasms  between  them  being  filled  with  gorgeous  masses 
of  purple-black  shadow,  under  the  sultry  clouds  which  hung  over  the 
island.  At  the  south-eastern  extremity  were  two  pointed,  isolated 
rocks,  probably  a  hundred  feet  high.  We  stood  around  the  opposite 
extremity  of  the  island,  making  for  the  port  of  Jamestown,  which 
faces  the  north-west.  The  coast  on  this  side  rises  into  two  bold 
heads,  one  of  which  projects  outward  like  a  gigantic  capstan,  while 
the  other  runs  slantingly  up  to  a  pointed  top,  which  is  crowned  with 
a  signal  station.  The  rock  has  a  dark  bluish-slate  color,  with  streaks 
of  a  warm  reddish-brown,  and  the  strata,  burst  apart  in  the  centre,  yet 
slanting  upward  toward  each  other  like  the  sides  of  a  volcano,  tell  of 
upheaval  by  some  tremendous  subterranean  agency.  The  structure 
of  the  island  is  purely  volcanic,  and,  except  the  rock  of  Aden,  on  the 
coast  of  Arabia,  I  never  saw  a  more  forbidding  spot. 

The  breeze  increased  as  we  drew  near  the  island,  but  when  we 
ran  under  the  lee  of  the  great  cliffs,  fell  away  almost  entirely,  so  that 
we  drifted  lazily  along  within  half  a  mile  of  them.  At  length  a  bat 
tery  hove  in  sight,  quarried  in  the  face  of  the  precipice,  and  anchored 
vessels,  one  by  one,  came  out  behind  the  point.  We  stood  off  a  little, 
urged  along  by  occasional  flaws  of  wind,  and  in  a  short  time  the  shal 
low  bight  which  forms  the  roadstead  of  St.  Helena  lay  before  us. 
There  was  another  battery  near  at  hand,  at  the  foot  of  a  deep,  barren 
glen,  called  Rupert's  Valley,  from  which  a  road,  notched  in  the  rock, 
leads  around  the  intervening  cliffs  to  the  gorge,  at  the  bottom  of 
which  Jamestown  is  built.  A  sea-wall  across  the  mouth  of  this  gorge, 
a  row  of  ragged  trees,  weather-beaten  by  the  gales  of  the  Atlantic, 
and  the  spire  of  a  church,  were  all  that  appeared  of  the  town.  The 
walls  of  the  fort  crowned  the  lofty  cliff  above,  and  high  behind  them 
towered  the  signal  station,  on  the  top  of  a  conical  peak,  the  loftiest  in 
the  island.  The  stone  ladder  which  leads  from  the  tower  to  the  fort 
was  marked  on  the  face  of  the  cliff  like  a  white  ribbon  unrolled  from 
its  top.  Inland,  a  summit  covered  with  dark  pine-trees,  from  the 


A    DAY    AT    ST.    HELENA.  85 

midst  of  which  glimmered  the  white  front  of  a  country  mansion,  rose 
above  the  naked  heights  of  the  shore.  This  was  the  only  gleam  of 
fertility  which  enlivened  the  terrible  sterility  of  the  view. 

Further  in-shore  a  few  gun-boats  and  water-boats  lay  at  anchor, 
and  some  fishing-skiffs  were  pulling  about.  As  we  forged  slowly 
along  to  a  good  anchoring  ground,  the  American  consul  came  off,  fol 
lowed  by  a  boarding-officer,  and  we  at  once  received  permission  to  go 
ashore  and  make  the  most  of  our  short  stay.  The  consul's  boat 
speedily  cpnveyed  us  to  the  landing-place,  at  the  eastern  extremity  of 
the  town.  Every  thing  had  a  dreary  and  deserted  air.  There  were 
half-a-dozen  men  and  boys,  with  Portuguese  features  and  uncertain 
complexions,  about  the  steps,  a  red-coated  soldier  at  a  sentry-box,  and 
two  or  three  lonely-looking  individuals  under  the  weather-beaten 
trees.  Passing  a  row  of  mean  houses  built  against  the  overhanging 
rock,  a  draw-bridge  over  a  narrow  moat  admitted  us  within  the  walls. 
A  second  wall  and  gate,  a  short  distance  further,  ushered  us  into  the 
public  square  of  Jamestown.  Even  at  its  outlet,  the  valley  is  not 
more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  wide,  and  the  little  town  is 
crowded,  or  rather  jammed,  deep  in  its  bottom,  between  nearly  per 
pendicular  cliffs,  seven  or  eight  hundred  feet  in  height.  At  the  top 
of  the  square  is  the  church,  a  plain  yellowish  structure,  with  a  tall, 
square,  pointed  spire,  and  beyond  it  Market  street,  the  main  tho 
roughfare  of  the  little  place,  opens  up  the  valley. 

A  carriage  —  almost  the  only  one  in  Jamestown  —  was  procured 

for  Mrs.  H ;   my  fellow-passenger,  P ,  provided  himself 

with  a  saddle-horse,  and  we  set  out  for  Longwood.  We  had  a 
mounted  Portuguese  postillion  and  rattled  up  the  steep  and  stony 
main  street  in  a  style  which  drew  upon  us  the  eyes  of  all  Jamestown. 
The  road  soon  left  the  town,  ascending  the  right  side  of  the  ravine  by 
a  very  long  and  steep  grade.  Behind  the  town  are  the  barracks  of 
the  soldiery  and  their  parade-ground  —  all  on  a  cramped  and  con 
tracted  scale ;  then  some  dreary  burial-grounds,  the  graves  in  which 
resembled  heaps  of  cinders ;  then  a  few  private  mansions,  and  green 
garden-patches,  winding  upward  for  a  mile  or  more.  The  depth  and 
narrowness  of  the  gorge  completely  shut  out  the  air ;  the  heat  was 
radiated  powerfully  from  its  walls  of  black  volcanic  rock,  and  the 


86  KNICKERBOCKER   GALLERY. 

bristling  cacti  and  yuccas  by  the  roadside,  with  full-crowned  cocoa 
palms  below,  gave  it  a  fiery,  savage,  tropical  character.  The  peak  of 
the  signal-station  loomed  high  above  us  from  the  opposite  side,  and 
now  the  head  of  the  ravine  —  a  precipice  several  hundred  feet  high, 
over  which  fell  a  silver  thread  of  water  —  came  into  sight.  This 
water  supplies  the  town  and  shipping,  beside  fertilizing  the  gardens 
in  the  bed  of  the  ravine.  It  is  clear  as  crystal,  and  of  the  sweetest 
and  freshest  quality.  Looking  backward,  we  saw  the  spire  of  the 
little  church  at  the  bottom  projected  against  the  blue  plain,  of  ocean, 
the  pigmy  hulls  of  the  vessels  in  the  roads,  and  a  great  triangular 
slice  of  sea,  which  grew  wider  and  longer  as  we  ascended,  until  the 
horizon  was  full  fifty  miles  distant. 

Near  the  top  of  the  ravine  there  is  a  natural  terrace  about  a  quar 
ter  of  a  mile  in  length,  lying  opposite  to  the  cascade.  It  contains  a 
few  small  fields,  divided  by  scrubby  hedges,  and,  near  the  further  end, 
two  pleasant  dwelling-houses,  surrounded  by  a  garden  in  which  I  saw 
some  fine  orange-trees.  This  is  "  The  Briars,"  memorable  from  hav 
ing  been  Napoleon's  first  residence  on  the  island.  The  Balcombe 
family  occupied  the  larger  of  the  two  dwellings,  which  is  flanked  by 
tall  Italian  cypresses,  while  the  other  building,  which  was  then  a  sum 
mer  pavilion,  but  was  afterward  enlarged  to  accommodate  the  Em 
peror  and  his  suite,  received  him  on  the  very  night  of  his  landing 
from  the  Bellerophon.  It  stands  on  a  little  knoll,  overlooking  a  deep 
glen,  which  debouches  into  the  main  valley  just  below.  The  place  is 
cheerful  though  solitary ;  it  has  a  sheltered,  sunny  aspect,  compared 
with  the  bleak  heights  of  Longwood,  and  I  do  not  wonder  that  the 
great  exile  left  it  with  regret.  Miss  Balcombe's  account  of  Napo 
leon's  sojourn  at  "  The  Briars"  is  among  the  most  striking  reminis 
cences  of  his  life  on  the  island. 

Just  above  the  terrace  the  road  turned,  and,  after  a  shorter  ascent, 
gained  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  where  the  grade  became  easier,  and  the 
cool  south-east  trade-wind,  blowing  over  the  height,  refreshed  us  after 
the  breathless  heat  of  the  ravine.  The  road  was  bordered  with  pine- 
trees,  and  patches  of  soft  green  turf  took  the  place  of  the  volcanic  dust 
and  cinders.  The  flower-stems  of  the  aloe-plants,  ten  feet  in  height, 
had  already  begun  to  wither,  but  the  purple  buds  of  the  cactus  were 


A   DAY   AT    ST.    HELENA.  87 

•\ 

opening,  and  thick  clusters  of  a  watery,  succulent  plant  were  starred 
with  white,  pink,  and  golden  blossoms.  We  had  now  attained  the 
central  upland  of  the  island,  which  slopes  downward  in  all  directions 
to  the  summit  of  the  sea-wall  of  cliffs.  On  emerging  again  from  the 
wood,  a  landscape  of  a  very  different  character  met  our  view.  Over 
a  deep  valley,  the  sides  of  which  were  alternately  green  with  turf  and 
golden  with  patches  of  blossoming  broom,  we  looked  upon  a  ridge  of 
table-land  three  or  four  miles  long,  near  the  extremity  of  which,  sur 
rounded  by  a  few  straggling  trees,  we  saw  the  houses  of  Longwood. 
In  order  to  reach  them,  it  was  necessary  to  pass  around  the  head  of 
the  intervening  valley.  In  this  direction  the  landscape  was  green  and 
fresh,  dotted  with  groves  of  pine  and  white  country  houses.  Flocks 
of  sheep  grazed  on  the  turfy  hill-sides,  and  a  few  cows  and  horses 
ruminated  among  the  clumps  of  broom.  Down  in  the  bottom  of  the 
valley,  I  noticed  a  small  inclosure,  planted  with  Italian  cypresses,  and 
with  a  square  white  object  in  the  centre.  It  did  not  need  the  pos 
tillion's  words  to  assure  me  that  I  looked  upon  the  Grave  of  Napo 
leon. 

Looking  eastward  toward  the  sea,  the  hills  became  bare  and  red, 
gashed  with  chasms  and  falling  off  in  tremendous  precipices,  the 
height  of  which  we  could  only  guess  from  the  dim  blue  of  the  great 
sphere  of  sea,  whose  far-off  horizon  was  drawn  above  their  summits, 
so  that  we  seemed  to  stand  in  the  centre  of  a  vast  concavity.  In 
color,  form,  and  magnificent  desolation,  these  hills  called  to  my  mind 
the  mountain  region  surrounding  the  Dead  Sea.  Clouds  rested  upon 
the  high,  pine- wooded  summits  to  the  west  of  us,  and  the  broad, 
sloping  valley,  on  the  other  side  of  the  ridge  of  Longwood,  was  as 
green  as  a  dell  of  Switzerland.  The  view  of  those  fresh  pasture- 
slopes,  with  their  flocks  of  sheep,  their  groves  and  cottages,  was  all  the 
more  delightful  from  its  being  wholly  unexpected.  Where  the  ridge 
joins  the  hills,  and  one  can  look  into  both  valleys  at  the  same  time, 
there  is  a  small  tavern,  with  the  familiar  English  sign  of  the  "  Crown 
and  Rose."  Our  road  now  led  eastward  along  the  top  of  the  ridge, 
over  a  waste  tract  covered  with  clumps  of  broom,  for  another  mile 
and  a  half,  when  we  reached  the  gate  of  the  Longwood  Farm.  A 
broad  avenue  of  trees,  which  all  lean  inland  from  the  stress  of  the 


88  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

trade-wind,  conducts  to  the  group  of  buildings,  on  a  bleak  spot,  over 
looking  the  sea,  and  exposed  to  the  full  force  of  the  wind.  Our  wheels 
rolled  over  a  thick,  green  turf,  the  freshness  of  which  showed  how 
unfrequent  must  be  the  visits  of  strangers. 

On  reaching  the  gate  a  small  and  very  dirty  boy,  with  a  milk- 
and-molasses  complexion,  brought  out  to  us  a  notice  pasted  on  a 
board,  intimating  that  those  who  wished  to  see  the  residence  of  the 
Emperor  Napoleon  must  pay  two  shillings  a-piece,  in  advance  ;  child 
ren  half-price.  A  neat  little  Englishwoman,  of  that  uncertain  age 
which  made  me  hesitate  to  ask  her  whether  she  had  ever  seen  the 
Emperor,  was  in  attendance,  to  receive  the  fees  and  act  as  cicerone. 
We  alighted  at  a  small  green  verandah,  facing  a  wooden  wing  which 
projects  from  the  eastern  front  of  the  building.  The  first  room  we 
entered  was  whitewashed,  and  covered  all  over  with  the  names  of 
visitors,  in  charcoal,  pencil,  and  red  chalk.  The  greater  part  of  them 
were  French.  "  This,"  said  the  little  woman,  "  was  the  Emperor's 
billiard-room,  built  after  he  came  to  live  at  Longwood.  The  walls 
have  three  or  four  times  been  covered  with  names,  and  whitewashed 
over."  A  door  at  the  further  end  admitted  us  into  the  drawing-room, 
in  which  Napoleon  died.  The  ceiling  was  broken  away,  and  dust  and 
cobwebs  covered  the  bare  rafters.  The  floor  was  half-decayed,  almost 
invisible  through  the  dirt  which  covered  it,  and  the  plastering,  falling 
off,  disclosed  in  many  places  the  rough  stone  walls.  A  winnowing- 
mill  and  two  or  three  other  farming  utensils  stood>in  the  corners. 
The  window  looked  into  a  barn-yard  filled  with  mud  and  dung. 
Stretched  on  a  sofa,  with  his  head  beside  this  window,  the  great  con 
queror,  the  "  modern  Sesostris,"  breathed  his  last,  amid  the  delirium 
of  fancied  battle  and  the  howlings  of  a  storm  which  shook  the  island. 
The  corner-stone  of  the  jamb,  nearest  which  his  head  lay,  has  been 
quarried  out  of  the  wall,  and  taken  to  France. 

Beyond  this  was  the  dining-room,  now  a  dark,  dirty  barn-floor, 
filled  to  the  rafters  with  straw  and  refuse  timbers.  We  passed  out 
into  a  cattle-yard,  and  entered  the  Emperor's  bed-room.  A  horse 
and  three  cows  were  comfortably  stalled  therein,  and  the  floor  of  mud 
and  loose  stones  was  covered  with  dung  and  litter.  "  Here,"  said  the 
guide,  pointing  to  an  unusually  filthy  stall  in  one  corner,  "  was  the 


A    DAY    AT    ST.    HELENA.  89 

Emperor's  bath-room.  Mr.  Solomon  (a  Jew  in  Jamestown)  has  the 
marble  bathing-tub  he  used.  Yonder  was  his  dressing-room"  —  a  big 
brinded  calf  was  munching  some  grass  in  the  very  spot  —  "  and  here" 
(pointing  to  an  old  cow  in  the  nearest  corner)  "  his  attendant  slept." 
So  miserable,  so  mournfully  wretched  was  the  condition  of  the  place, 
that  I  regretted  not  having  been  content  with  an  outside  view  of 
Longwood.  On  the  other  side  of  the  cattle-yard  stand  the  houses 
which  were  inhabited  by  Count  Montholon,  Las  Casas,  and  Dr. 
O'Meara ;  but  at  present  they  are  shabby,  tumble-down  sheds,  whose 
stone  walls  alone  have  preserved  their  existence  to  this  day.  On  the 
side  facing  the  sea,  there  are  a  few  pine-trees,  under  which  is  a  small 
crescent-shaped  fish-pond,  dry  and  nearly  filled  with  earth  and  weeds. 
Here  the  Emperor  used  to  sit  and  feed  his  tame  fish.  The  sky,  over 
cast  with  clouds,  and  the  cold  wind  which  blew  steadily  from  the  sea, 
added  to  the  desolation  of  the  place. 

Passing  through  the  garden,  which  is  neglected,  like  the  house, 
and  running  to  waste,  we  walked  to  the  new  building  erected  by  the 
Government  for  Napoleon's  use,  but  which  he  never  inhabited.  It  is 
a  large  quadrangle,  one  story  high,  plain  but  commodious,  and  with 
some  elegance  in  its  arrangement.  It  has  been  once  or  twice  occu 
pied  as  a  residence,  but  is  now  decaying  from  very  neglect.  Stand 
ing  under  the  brow  of  the  hill,  it  is  sheltered  from  the  wind,  and  much 
more  cheerful  in  every  respect  than  the  old  mansion.  We  were  con 
ducted  through  the  empty  chambers,  intended  for  billiard,  dining, 
drawing,  and  bed-rooms.  In  the  bath-room,  where  yet  stands  the 
wooden  case  which  inclosed  the  marble  tub,  a  flock  of  geese  were  lux 
uriating.  The  curtains  which  hung  at  the  windows  were  dropping  to 
pieces  from  rot,  and  in  many  of  the  rooms  the  plastering  was  cracked 
and  mildewed  by  the  leakage  of  rains  through  the  roof.  Near  the 
building  is  a  neat  cottage,  in  which  General  Bertrand  and  his  family 
formerly  resided.  It  is  now  occupied  by  the  gentleman  who  leases 
the  farm  of  Longwood  from  the  Government.  The  farm  is  the  largest 
on  the  island,  containing  one  thousand  acres,  and  is  rented  at  £315  a 
year.  The  uplands  around  the  house  are  devoted  to  the  raising  of 
oats  and  barley,  but  grazing  is  the  principal  source  of  profit. 


90  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

I  plucked  some  branches  of  geranium  and  fragrant  heliotrope  from 
the  garden,  and  we  set  out  on  our  return.  I  prevailed  upon  Mr. 

P to  take  my  place  in  the  carriage,  and  give  me  his  horse  as  far 

as  the  "  Crown  and  Rose,"  thereby  securing  an  inspiring  gallop  of 
nearly  two  miles.  Two  Englishmen,  of  the  lower  order,  had  charge 
of  the  tavern,  and  while  I  was  taking  a  glass  of  ale,  one  of  them 
touched  his  hat  very  respectfully,  and  said :  "  Axin'  your  pardon,  Sir, 
are  you  from  the  States  ?"  I  answered  in  the  affirmative.  "  There !" 
said  he,  turning  to  the  other  and  clapping  his  hands,  "  I  knew  it ; 
I  've  won  the  bet."  "  What  were  your  reasons  for  thinking  me  ail 
American?"  I  asked.  "Why,"  said  he,  "the  gentlemen  from  the 
States  are  always  so  mild!  I  knowed  you  was  one  before  you  got 
off  the  horse." 

We  sent  the  carriage  on  by  the  road,  to  await  us  on  the  other  side 
of  the  glen,  and  proceeded  on  foot  to  the  Grave.  The  path  led  down 
ward  through  a  garden  filled  with  roses  and  heliotropes.  The  peach- 
trees  were  in  blossom,  and  the  tropical  loquat,  which  I  had  seen  grow 
ing  in  India  and  China,  hung  full  of  ripe  yellow  fruit.  As  we 
approached  the  little  inclosure  at  the  bottom  of  the  glen,  I,  who  was 
in  advance,  was  hailed  by  a  voice  crying  out,  "  This  way,  Sir,  this 
way !"  and,  looking  down,  saw  at  the  gate  a  diminutive,  wrinkled, 
old,  grizzly-headed,  semi-negro,  semi-Portuguese  woman,  whom  I  at 
once  recognized  as  the  custodienne  of  the  tomb,  from  descriptions 
which  the  officers  of  the  Mississippi  had  given  me.  "Ah!  there  you 
are!"  said  I;  "I  knew  it  must  be  you."  "Why,  Captain!"  she 
exclaimed ;  "  is  that  you  ?  How  you  been  this  long  while  1  I  did  n't 
know  you  was  a-comin',  or  I  would  ha'  put  on  a  better  dress,  for,  you 
see,  I  was  a-washin'  to-day.  Dickey!"  —  addressing  a  great,  fat, 
white  youth  of  twenty-two  or  twenty-three,  with  a  particularly  stupid 
and  vacant  face  —  "  run  up  to  the  garden  and  git  two  or  three  of  the 
finest  bokys  as  ever  you  can,  for  the  Captain  and  the  ladies !" 

At  the  gate  of  the  inclosure  hung  a  placard,  calling  upon  all  visit 
ors  to  pay,  in  advance,  the  sum  of  one  shilling  and  sixpence  each, 
before  approaching  the  tomb.  This  touching  testimony  of  respect 
having  been  complied  with,  we  were  allowed  to  draw  near  to  the 


•A   DAY   AT    ST.    HELENA.  91 

empty  vault,  which,  for  twenty  years,  enshrined  the  corpse  of  Napo 
leon.  It  is  merely  an  oblong  shaft  of  masonry,  about  twelve  feet 
deep,  and  with  a  rude  roof  thrown  over  the  mouth,  to  prevent  it  being 
filled  by  the  rains.  A  little  railing  surrounds  it,  and  the  space 
between  is  planted  with  geraniums  and  scarlet  salvias.  Two  wil 
lows  —  one  of  which  has  been  so  stripped  by  travellers  that  nothing 
but  the  trunk  is  left  —  shade  the  spot,  and  half-a-dozen  monumental 
cypresses  lift  their  tall  obelisks  around.  A  flight  of  steps  leads  to 
the  bottom  of  the  vault,  where  the  bed  of  masonry  which  inclosed  the 
coffin  still  remains.  I  descended  to  the  lowest  step,  and  there  found, 
hanging  against  the  damp  wall,  a  written  tablet  stating  that  the  old 
woman,  then  waiting  for  me  at  the  top,  told  an  admirable  and  excel 
lent  story  about  the  burial  of  Napoleon,  which  travellers  would  do 
well  to  extract  from  her,  and  that  one  shilling  was  but  a  fair  compen 
sation  for  the  pleasure  she  would  afford  them.  Appended  to  the 
announcement  were  the  following  lines,  which  I  transcribed  on  the 
spot: 

11  FIRMLY  strike  my  bounding  lyre, 
Poet's  muse  can  never  tire, 
Nosegays  gay  and  flowers  so  wild, 
Climate  good  and  breezes  mild, 
Humbly  ask  a  shilling,  please, 
Before  the  stranger  sails  the  seas. 
NAPOLEON  was  in  love  with  a  lady  so  true, 
He  gave  her  a  gold  ring  set  with  diamonds  and  pearls, 
Which  was  worthy  the  honors  of  many  brave  earls. 
But  she  died,  it  is  said,  in  her  bloom  and  her  beauty, 
So  his  love  broken-hearted 
For  ever  was  parted. 

He  drank  of  the  spring  and  its  water  so  clear, 
Which  was  reserved  for  his  use,  and  he  held  it  most  dear. 
So  he  died,  so  he  died, 
In  the  bloom  of  his  pride, 
Like  the  victor  of  worlds  in  the  tomb  to  abide, 
Though  he  conquered  to  conquer  another  beside. 
In  his  life  he  sat  under  yon  lone  willow-tree, 
And  studied  the  air,  the  earth,  and  the  sea ; 
His  arms  were  akimbo,  his  thoughts  far  away. 


92  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

He  lived  six  months  at  the  house  on  the  hill,  at  his 

friend's,  the  brave  General  BERTRAND  by  name,  and 
from  thence  he  would  come 
To  visit  the  spot, 
And  stand  in  deep  thought, 
Forgotten  or  not." 

If  I  had  been  saddened  by  the  neglect  of  Longwood,  I  was  dis 
gusted  by  the  profanation  of  the  tomb.  Is  there  not  enough  reverence 
in  St.  Helena,  to  prevent  the  grave  which  a  great  name  has  hallowed, 
from  being  denied  with  such  abominable  doggerel  1  And  there  was 
the  old  woman,  who,  having  seen  me  read  the  notice,  immediately 
commenced  her  admirable  and  interesting  story  in  this  wise :  "  Six 
years  he  lived  upon  the  island.  He  came  here  in  1815,  and  he  died 
in  1821.  Six  years  he  lived  upon  the  island.  He  was  buried  with 
his  head  to  the  east.  This  is  the  east.  His  feet  was  to  the  west. 
This  is  the  west.  Where  you  see  that  brown  dirt,  there  was  his 
head.  He  wanted  to  be  buried  beside  his  wife,  Josephine ;  but,  as 
that  could  n't  be  done,  he  was  put  here.  They  put  him  here  because 
he  used  to  come  down  here  with  a  silver  mug  in  his  pocket,  and  take 
a  drink  out  of  that  spring.  That 's  the  reason  he  was  buried  here. 
There  was  a  guard  of  a  sargeant  and  six  men  up  there  on  the  hill,  all 
the  time  he  was  down  here  a-drinkin'  out  of  the  spring  with  his  silver 
mug.  This  was  the  way  he  walked."  Here  the  old  woman  folded 
her  arms,  tossed  back  her  grizzly  head,  and  strode  to  and  fro  with  so 
ludicrous  an  attempt  at  dignity,  that,  in  spite  of  myself,  I  was  forced 
into  laughter.  "  Did  you  ever  see  him  V  I  asked.  "  Yes,  Captain," 
said  she ;  "  I  seed  him  a  many  a  time,  and  I  always  said, '  Good  morn- 
in',  Sir,'  but  he  never  had  no  conversation  with  me."  A  draught  of 
the  cool  and  delicious  lymph  of  Napoleon's  Spring  completed  the 
farce.  I  broke  a  sprig  from  one  of  the  cypresses,  wrote  my  name  in 
the  visitor's  book,  took  the  "boky"  of  gillyflowers  and  marigolds, 
which  Dickey  had  collected,  and  slowly  remounted  the  opposite  side 
of  the  glen.  My  thoughts  involuntarily  turned  from  the  desecrated 
grave  to  that  fitting  sepulchre  where  he  now  rests,  under  the  banners 
of  a  hundred  victorious  battle-fields,  and  guarded  by  the  time-worn 


A    DAY    AT    ST.    HELENA.  93 

remnant  of  his  faithful  Old  Guard.  Let  Longwood  be  levelled  io  the 
earth,  and  the  empty  grave  be  filled  up  and  turfed  over !  Better  that 
these  memorials  of  England's  treachery  should  be  seen  no  more ! 

We  hastened  back  to  Jamestown,  as  it  was  near  sunset.  The 
long  shadows  already  filled  the  ravine,  and  the  miniature  gardens  and 
streets  below  were  more  animated  than  during  the  still  heat  of  the 
afternoon.  Capt.  Howland  was  waiting  for  us,  as  the  ship  was  ready 
to  sail.  Before  it  was  quite  dark,  we  had  weighed  anchor,  and  were 
slowly  drifting  away  from  the  desolate  crags  of  the  island.  The  next 
morning,  we  saw  again  the  old  unbroken  ring  of  the  sea. 


BY   T.    W.   PARSONS. 


WELL,  I  have  wrought  in  many  ways, 
A  humble  workman,  day  and  night ; 
My  wages,  partly  it  was  praise, 
And  part  was  metal  round  and  bright. 

Whate'er  I  got  of  yellow  gains, 

'Tis  gone  —  all  spent !  and  I  am  poor : 

But  what  I  earned  of  praise  remains, 
And  of  one  loving  heart  I  'm  sure. 

This  is  the  sum  of  all  my  toil : 

A  name  —  a  pleasing  shape  of  sound  — 
While  thou  art  rich  in  stocks  and  soil, 

Fat  acres  of  unmeasured  ground. 

Yet,  DIVES  !  think  not  I  would  change 
This  poverty  and  soul  of  mine 

For  all  the  lands  where  widely  range 
Thy  herds  of  unrecorded  kine. 

Since  all  thy  fortune  could  not  buy 
My  spirits,  or  thy  footman's  health, 

Or  bribe  thy  lowly  tenant  nigh 

To  bid  GOD'S  blessing  on  thy  wealth. 

And  I,  blithe  beggar  as  I  seem, 

Am  rich  in  friendships,  though  but  few ; 
Nor  comes  there  to  disturb  my  dream 

The  nightly  fiend  that  troubles  you. 


tp. 


R     tt     E     N     T 


THE  excursion  of  June,  1854,  up  the  Northern  Mississippi,  in  honor 
of  the  completion  of  the  Rock-Island  and  Chicago  Railroad,  and  by 
invitation  of  the  contractors  of  that  road,  was  on  a  scale  quite  unpar 
alleled  in  the  history  of  similar  celebrations.  Some  seven  hundred 
guests,  chiefly  from  the  Atlantic  States,  were  freely  transported  an 
immense  distance  to  view  the  last  railroad  link  between  the  Atlantic 
and  the  Mississippi,  and  to  enjoy  an  excursion  by  steamboat  from  the 
point  of  termination  on  the  river  up  to  the  new  and  wondrous  city  of 
St.  Paul,  in  Minnesota,  and  thence  to  Fort  Snelling,  and  by  land  to 
the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony. 

The  river  trip  was  accomplished  between  Monday  evening  and  the 
next  Saturday  morning ;  the  boats  stopping  at  Galena  and  Dubuque 
on  the  upward  passage.  Above  Dubuque  the  scenery  begins  to  open 
upon  the  voyager  in  forms  of  singular  beauty.  The  bluffs  grow  higher 
and  more  precipitous ;  and  the  remarkable  sand-stone  protrusions,  so 
characteristic  of  the  banks  of  the  Upper  Mississippi,  begin  to  appear. 

At  one  point  it  requires  no  exaggeration  of  fancy  to  trace  the  out 
lines  of  a  ruined  castle ;  while,  at  another,  you  see  a  solitary  tower, 
and  then  the  serrated  embrasures  of  a  deserted  battlement.  The  boat 
glides  on,  and  now  from  the  steep  slope  of  a  bluff,  clothed  in  richest 
verdure,  as  if  it  had  been  kept  under  careful  cultivation,  you  see  the 
sand-stone  bare  in  a  single  central  spot,  and  taking  the  form  of  an 
ancient  cenotaph,  as  if  there  reposed  the  ashes  of  some  ante-diluvian 
monarch.  A  mile  or  two  farther  on,  and  the  broken  entablature  of  a 
Grecian  temple,  with  architrave,  frieze,  and  cornice,  and  resting  on 

7 


KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

two  or  three  dismembered  columns,  seems  set  in  a  wall  of  verdure, 
as  if  it  were  a  piece  of  subterranean  architecture,  exposed  by  the 
washing  away  of  the  earth,  which  had  then  been  sloped  and  terraced 
about  it  by  the  hand  of  art,  and  planted  with  the  finest  grasses,  while 
the  trees  were  so  distributed  as  to  impart  the  most  picturesque  effect. 
Indeed,  the  orchard-like  appearance  of  these  slopes,  sweeping  in  curves 
of  enchanting  beauty  to  the  water's  edge,  is  the  most  surprising  fea 
ture  in  the  landscape.  For  scores  of  miles  you  may  see  no  sign  of 
population,  and  yet  many  of  these  hills  appear  like  the  outskirts  of  a 
nobleman's  park,  carefully  kept  free  from  under-brush  and  matted 
vegetation,  and  rounded  by  some  landscape  gardener  to  gratify  the 
eye  of  taste.  Here  and  there  a  sort  of  dimple  is  scooped  in  the  hill ; 
or  you  see  two  noble  hills  nearly  meet  at  their  bases,  leaving  a  hol 
low  between,  like  a  lap,  to  receive  the  treasures  of  fertility  which  the 
land  is  ready  to  pour  down.  The  charm  of  vegetation,  which  a  luxu 
riant  soil  imparts,  is  spread  like  a  mantle  over  these  bluffs.  You 
look  in  vain  for  a  bleak  or  barren  point.  When  the  bluffs  sink  on 
one  side  of  the  river,  they  reappear  on  the  other ;  and  this  peculiarity 
continues,  with  a  few  exceptions,  (as  at  Lake  Pepin,)  till  you  reach 
the  pine  region  above  the  mouth  of  the  St.  Croix. 

A  hundred  miles  from  the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony,  you  pass  through 
Lake  Pepin,  which  is  merely  an  expansion  of  the  Mississippi,  about 
twenty-four  miles  long,  and  from  two  to  four  miles  wide.  It  is 
rightly  named  a  lake,  however ;  as  the  characteristics  of  the  river  are 
here  greatly  modified.  There  is  no  perceptible  current.  The  low 
islands,  covered  with  rank  vegetation,  and  annually  overflowed  and 
abraded  by  the  brimming  river,  here  entirely  disappear.  There  is 
not  an  island  in  Lake  Pepin.  There  are  bluffs  on  both  sides,  which 
slope  down  cleanly  to  the  water's  edge,  leaving  a  narrow  rim  of  sand, 
but  no  marshy  bottom-land  between. 

At  one  point,  on  the  Wisconsin  shore,  the  bluffs  recede,  and  s. 
beautiful  platform  of  land  extends  before  them,  dotted  with  trees. 
On  the  Minnesota  shore  the  line  of  bluffs  is  at  one  place  thrown  back 
to  make  way  for  a  prairie,  on  the  back-ground  of  which  Nature  has 
lavished  all  that  can  be  imagined  of  the  picturesque  in  the  scenery  of 
hill  and  dale.  Here  and  there  along  the  summit-line  of  majestic 


ON    LAKE    PEPIX.  99 

bluffs  you  see  a  single  row  of  trees  at  a  distance  of  several  feet  from 
one  another,  like  warriors  in  Indian  file. 

The  amenity  of  the  landscape  Lends  to  it  an  indescribable  charm. 
On  Lake  George  you  see  bold  and  beautiful  hills,  wooded  to  the 
water's  edge,  and  interspersed  with  rocks  and  rugged  declivities  that 
contrast  with  the  pervading  verdure.  But  on  Lake  Pepin  you  see 
grandeur  putting  on  all  forms  of  beauty,  and  wearing,  under  all 
aspects,  a  smile.  Even  its  ravines  are  so  hollowed  and  smoothed 
that  every  rugged  feature  has  been  softened  down.  Its  charming  hill 
sides  are  such  as  the  imagination  of  Watteau  used  to  select  for  the 
pastoral  pic-nics  and  concerts  he  delighted  to  paint.  The  charm  of 
variety  is  not  wanting  to  these  slopes.  The  curves  and  undulations 
of  verdure  assume  every  fanciful  and  delightful  form ;  now  sweeping 
so  as  to  create  a  regular  amphitheatre  between  two  high  bluffs ;  now 
sinking  into  basins;  now  sparsely  dotted  with  trees;  now  entirely 
bare  of  trees,  and  richly  carpeted  with  grass ;  now  crowned  with 
noble  forests ;  and  now  rising  into  a  perpendicular  and  precipitous 
wall  of  sand-stone. 

On  our  northward  trip,  we  passed  through  Lake  Pepin  in  the 
night-time ;  so  that  we  could  not  see  much  of  its  scenery.  Three  of 
our  boats  were  lashed  together,  and  thus  proceeded  along  the  whole 
length  of  the  lake,  exhibiting  to  any  stray  occupant  of  the  shore  a 
startling  and  fiery  spectacle.  On  our  return  we  were  more  fortunate. 
"We  entered  upon  Lake  Pepin  at  the  dawn  of  a  beautiful  day. 
Toward  the  southern  extremity  of  the  lake  we  saw  the  high  bluff,  with 
its  sand-stone  pinnacle,  known  as  the  Maiden's  Rock.  It  was  my 
fortune  to  be  standing  on  the  hurricane-deck,  with  my  foot  upon  a 
life-preserving  stool,  and  my  elbow  leaned  upon  my  knee,  when  some 
of  my  lady  acquaintances  of  the  excursion  broke  in  upon  my  contem 
plations. 

"  We  have  come  to  you,"  said  one,  "  for  the  authentic  version  of 
the  legend  which  gives  to  that  rock  its  name.  Please  to  sit  down, 
and  tell  it  like  a  faithful  chronicler." 

"  Authorities  differ,"  said  another,  <;  as  to  whether  the  maiden, 
who  threw  herself  from  the  rock,  had  a  lover ;  now  I  insist  upon  it 
that  she  had." 


100  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  Please  to  be  seated,  ladies,  and  you  shall  hear  the  whole  story  ; 
although  it  is  many  years  since  I  received  it  from  a  Sister  of  Charity 
at  Montreal." 

"  But  I  insist  upon  it  that  a  lover  must  be  introduced,"  said  lady 
number  two. 

"  We  can  not  promise,"  said  I ;  "  for  the  story  will  come  to  my 
recollection  only  by  degrees,  as  I  go  along.  What  shall  we  call  it  f 

"  Call  it,"  said  the  first  lady,  hesitatingly,  "  call  it 

"afte-no-mfc  goch." 

"  WE-NO-NA'S  ROCK  it  shall  be." 

Know,  then,  that  many  years  ago,  shortly  before  the  indefatigable 
Jesuit  missionaries  had  penetrated  this  country,  or  given  to  this  beau 
tiful  lake  the  name  of  that  old  king  of  the  Franks,  which  it  bears,  the 
Dahcotahs  or  Sioux  Indians  occupied  the  region  now  partly  included 
within  the  limits  of  Minnesota  and  Wisconsin. 

The  Dahcotahs  were  confederated  bands,  sub-divided  into  clans, 
and  they  differed  from  the  Indians  east  of  the  Mississippi  in  relying 
more  exclusively  for  their  support  upon  hunting  the  bison.  They 
were  a  fierce,  aggressive  people,  and  so  improvident,  that  periods  of 
famine  among  them  were  quite  common.  On  such  occasions  they 
would  suddenly  break  up  their  settlements  and  move  to  distant 
hunting-grounds,  leaving  their  infirm  old  men,  who  were  unable  to 
travel,  behind  to  perish. 

On  a  cold  day  in  January,  on  the  edge  of  the  clump  of  trees  which 
you  see  a  short  distance  back  from  the  Maiden's  Rock,  an  old  Indian 
might  have  been  seen  cowering  about  a  fire.  Ish-te-nah  had  been  left 
to  die.  His  people,  driven  by  hunger,  had  gone  west  in  search  of  the 
bison.  A  small  pile  of  wood,  some  morsels  of  food,  a  hatchet,  a  birchen 
vessel,  filled  with  water,  and  a  bow  and  arrows,  were  by  his  side ;  and 
a  few  stakes,  covered  with  deer-skins,  disposed  in  a  cone-like  shape, 
formed  the  wigwam  for  his  shelter  and  repose.  The  ground  was 
covered  with  snow,  and  the  wind  blew  keenly  from  the  north-west. 

"  Go,  my  children,"  the  old  man  had  said,  when  some  seemed  to 
hesitate  in  their  act  of  desertion  ;  "  go  where  you  can  get  food.  Leave 
me  to  the  GREAT  SPIRIT'S  care.  At  the  best  I  have  but  a  brief  while 


ON   LAKE    PEPIN.  101 

to  live.  I  should  be  a  "burthen  and  a  delay  to  you  if  you  attempted 
to  take  me  with  you.  Your  women  and  young  people  must  be  pro 
vided  for.  Go !" 

And  Ish-te-nah  was  left  alone.  Although  he  had  made  a  virtue 
of  necessity,  and  exhibited  the  characteristic  stoicism  of  his  race,  in 
insisting  upon  thus  being  deserted,  he  could  not  repress  the  bitter 
thoughts  that  visited  him  as  the  last  lingerers  disappeared  from  his 
feeble  gaze.  He  recalled  the  times  when  he  had  rallied  his  people  to 
a  victorious  onset,  or  saved  them  from  a  well-laid  ambush,  or  brought 
them  off  safely  from  the  assault  of  superior  numbers.  He  recalled 
his  achievements  in  the  chase,  and  the  occasions  when,  by  foresight 
and  energy,  he  had  averted  calamities  like  the  present.  And  after 
all  his  benefits  to  his  tribe,  here  was  his  reward. 

As  he  was  indulging  in  these  repining  retrospections,  he  was 
startled  by  the  sound  of  crackling  snow,  and  the  next  moment  an 
Indian  girl  stood  panting  before  him. 

"  We-no-na !  What  brings  you  here  ?"  said  the  old  man.  "  Do 
not  linger,  or  you  will  miss  your  people's  track.  Already  the  drift 
ing  snow  may  have  covered  it." 

"  I  do  not  care.  T  stay  here,"  said  We-no-na,  throwing  some  dry 
boughs  on  the  fire. 

"  Would  the  young  fawn  perish  like  the  old,  disabled  buck  ? 
What  moves  We-no-na  to  this  desperate  resolve  ?" 

"  Father,  they  would  wed  me  to  the  chief  Ha-o-kah ;  and  I  detest 
him." 

"  In  other  words,  you  love  some  younger  man  of  the  tribe." 

"  I  love  no  man,  young  or  old ;  unless  it  be  you,  father,  from 
whom  I  have  always  had  kindness." 

"  Go,  foolish  fawn !     Ha-o-kah  is  as  good  as  most  husbands." 

"  I  would  sooner  die  than  have  a  husband,  if  all  are  like  those  of 
the  Dahcotahs,"  exclaimed  We-no-na  energetically.  "How  much 
better  is  a  wife  treated  than  a  dog  ?  Look  at  my  mother  !  See  her 
staggering  under  heavy  burthens,  while  her  husband  carries  no  more 
than  will  keep  him  warm.  The  wife  must  cut  the  tree,  peel  the  bark, 
build  the  hut,  sew  the  skins,  paddle  the  canoe,  and  cook  the  food. 
She  must  do  every  menial  thing,  while  the  husband  looks  on  in  idle- 


102  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

ness.  All  this  I  could  bear,  if  she  had  good  treatment  after  it.  But 
then,  when  her  drudgery  is  over,  she  must  be  beaten,  or  have  a  stick 
of  wood  thrown  at  her  head.  Yesterday  my  mother  was  beaten  for 
not  beating  me  hard  enough,  because  I  said  I  would  die  sooner  than 
marry,  and  so  I  would  !" 

"The  Indian's  is  a  bad  life,"  said  the  old  man.  "What  you  say 
is  true.  Indian  women  are  slaves ;  and  Indian  old  men  are  aban 
doned,  as  I  am,  to  die." 

"  Father,  you  shall  not  die  if  I  can  help  it.  I  will  build  your  fire, 
peel  bark  to  improve  your  shelter,  and  break  holes  in  the  ice  to  catch 
fish." 

For  a  moment  the  old  man's  Indian  apathy  was  melted,  and  a 
strange,  unwonted  feeling,  which,  a  little  more  indulged,  would  have 
brought  tears  to  his  eyes,  stole  through  his  breast. 

"  We-no-na  deserves  a  better  husband  than  any  Dahcotah  would 
make,"  said  the  old  man.  "It  is  hard  to  speak  against  one's  own 
nation;  but  what  I  have  seen,  I  have  seen.  We-no-na  does  not 
desire  to  be  a  slave,  and  so  she  will  go  unwedded." 

"  Father,  I  would  willingly  toil  like  a  slave,  if  there  were  loving 
words  and  looks  to  repay  me ;  but  the  angry  threat,  the  blow,  the 
contempt  of  a  man  is  more  than  I  can  submit  to.  I  think  the  GREAT 
SPIRIT  has  made  me  different  from  other  Dahcotah  women." 

Saying  this,  We-no-na  seized  the  hatchet,  and  treading  lightly  and 
fleetly  over  the  snow  toward  that  grove  of  oak  which  you  see  in 
the  direction  of  the  north-west,  cut  a  bundle  of  dry  boughs,  and 
brought  them  to  the  fire.  The  old  man  and  maiden  then  partook  of 
a  frugal  meal  of  dried  venison ;  and  when  the  night  came  on,  one 
of  them  watched  the  fire  while  the  other  slept. 

The  next  morning  We-no-na  crossed  the  lake  on  the  ice  to  that 
bluff  with  the  bowl-like  hollow  on  its  front,  to  reconnoitre.  What 
was  her  joy  on  discovering  traces  of  deer !  She  had  brought  the 
old  man's  bow  and  arrows  with  her,  and  she  resolved  to  lie  in  wait  for 
the  game  on  which  not  only  her  own  life,  but  another's,  seemed  now  to 
depend.  Her  vigilance  was  soon  repaid.  A  noble  deer  came  bound 
ing  by  toward  an  oak  opening  which  lies  just  back  of  the  bluff.  With 
beating  heart  We-no-na  fixed  the  arrow  in  the  string,  and  without 


ON    LAKE    PEPIN.  103 

pausing,  shot  it  at  the  animal.  Leaping  high  in  the  air,  he  fell,  and 
crimsoned  the  snow  with  his  life-blood.  "  Surely,"  thought  We-no- 
na,  "the  good  spirit  who  dwells  in  woods  has  befriended  me;"  for 
this  was  the  first  deer  she  had  ever  killed.  With  great  labor  she 
dragged  the  carcase  to  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  and  rolled  it  down  over 
the  icy  crust  to  the  frozen  lake.  It  would  have  been  hard  work  for  a 
strong  man  to  pull  it  over  the  ice,  and  up  to  the  little  encampment 
back  of  We-no-na's  rock.  But  this  she  did,  greatly  fearing  the 
while  lest  the  wolves  should  interrupt  her  in  the  task. 

Old  Ish-te-nah's  eyes  sparkled  when  he  saw  what  the  maiden  had 
accomplished. 

"  Here  is  enough,"  he  said,  "  to  keep  you  from  starving  till  the 
spring." 

"  To  keep  us  both,  father,"  rejoined  We-no-na, 

The  old  man  shook  his  head,  but  said  nothing. 

"  What  would  my  father  say  f  asked  We-no-na,  after  a  long  pause. 

"  Should  I  leave  you,  my  child,  trust  in  the  GREAT  SPIRIT,  and  be 
brave.     Wait  here  through  the  winter  as  long  as  you  can  get  food 
and  warmth ;  but  do  not  tarry  after  you  have  plucked  the  first  ripe 
strawberry  in  the  summer,     Remember." 
We-no-na  promised  obedience. 

"And  go  east,  beyond  the  great  lakes,  to  the  country  of  the 
Algonquins,  where  you  will  find  the  pale-faces  of  whom  you  have 
heard,  and  who  will  teach  you  much  that  will  do  your  people  good, 
should  you  ever  return  to  them." 

We-no-na  bowed  her  head  in  acknowledgment  that  she  had  stored 
up  in  her  memory  all  that  the  old  man  had  enjoined.  She  then 
cooked  some  venison,  but  he  partook  sparingly,  and  bade  her  sleep, 
while  he  watched.  The  command  was  not  unwelcome  ;  for  she  had 
been  much  fatigued  by  her  day's  work.  She  slept  profoundly  for 
some  hours,  then  started  up  suddenly,  waked  by  the  cold,  and  found 
that  the  fire  was  decaying  fast.  She  heaped  upon  it  some  more 
wood,  then  turning  to  Ish-te-nah,  said :  "  Father,  you  shall  now  take 
your  turn  to  sleep."  No  answer  came  from  him.  We-no-na  seized 
him  by  the  arm :  it  was  cold  and  stiff.  The  soul  of  the  old  warrior 
had  departed. 


104  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

The  maiden  sat  in  mute,  overpowering  affliction  for  many  hours. 
The  anguish  of  utter  bereavement  and  desolation  seemed  to  deprive 
her  even  of  the  relief  of  tears.  At  length  she  recalled  her  promises 
to  the  old  man.  She  found  a  place  under  a  high  snow-drift,  where 
the  ground  was  yet  unfrozen ;  and  here  she  dug  a  grave,  and  deposited 
his  mortal  body.  And  it  was  not  till  all  this  was  done,  and  the  snow 
had  been  replaced  over  the  spot  of  interment,  and  the  fire  had  been 
heaped  anew  with  wood,  that  tears  and  lamentations  found  vent  with 
We-no-na. 

But  the  grief  of  the  young  and  healthy  is  like  a  flesh-wound  that 
befalls  them:  it  soon  heals.  Left  entirely  to  her  own  resources, 
We-no-na  found  hourly  occupation  for  her  hands  and  thoughts,  and  at 
night  slept  so  profoundly  that,  on  waking,  she  often  could  not  remem 
ber  that  she  had  even  dreamed.  She  enlarged  the  little  wigwam  so 
as  to  make  quite  a  neat  apartment,  well  roofed,  and  with  a  floor  of 
bark,  on  which  was  spread  the  skin  of  a  bison.  By  laying  large  strips 
of  bark  sloping  against  the  trees  to  which  her  wigwam  was  bound,  she 
made  a  safe  place  for  the  deposit  of  the  venison  and  other  provisions. 
She  constructed  a  canoe  in  anticipation  of  the  river's  melting  in  the 
spring ;  and  out  of  the  deer-skin  she  made  moccasins  and  belts.  And 
then  a  good  part  of  the  day  was  occupied  in  cutting  and  bringing  in 
wood ;  so  that  We-no-na  had  little  time  for  idle  or  desponding  fan 
cies.  Occasionally,  when  the  wind  howled,  and  the  snow  whirled  in 
wild  eddies  over  the  bluff,  she  would  sit  and  feed  the  fire  for  hours, 
and  then  strange  thoughts  would  visit  her ;  and  the  consciousness  of 
her  lonely  situation  would  press  upon  her  heavily.  But  she  was 
naturally  cheerful  and  hopeful;  and  her  day-dreams  were  oftener 
bright  than  gloomy.  She  was  saddest  when  she  thought  of  a  little 
sister,  who  had  died  the  winter  before.  But  one  night  she  dreamed 
that  little  We-har-ka  came  to  her  lonely  wigwam,  and  promised  to 
lead  her  in  good  time  to  a  land  more  beautiful  than  any  she  had  yet 
seen,  where  there  were  birds  and  fruits  all  the  year  round,  and  where 
no  violence  was  done,  and  no  harsh  words  were  spoken.  After  this, 
We-no-na  was  more  content,  and  she  loved  to  recall  all  the  particu 
lars  of  her  dream.  There  were  little  brothers  whom  she  had  been 
obliged  to  leave  in  deserting  her  people.  And  did  not  We-no-na 


ON    LAKE    PEPIN.  105 

grieve  for  them  ?  Alas !  like  all  Indian  boys,  they  had  been  bred  up 
to  treat  their  sisters  with  contempt  and  ignominy ;  and  the  effects  of 
a  vile  education  had  been  such  as  to  blunt  their  natural  affections,  and 
to  make  them  regard  the  fraternal  sentiment  as  a  weakness  which  no 
boy  who  hoped  to  become  a  great  warrior  ought  to  entertain. 

The  winter  months  had  never  seemed  to  We-no-na  less  tedious. 
March,  with  its  cold  blasts,  and  April,  with  its  torrents  of  rain,  had 
passed ;  and  the  south  wind  unlocked  the  fettered  Mississippi,  and  the 
blue  waters  of  Lake  Pepin  again  sparkled  in  the  sunshine,  and  the 
verdure  began  to  creep  over  bluff*  and  prairie,  and  the  delicate  foliage 
to  fringe  the  trees,  and  bright  flowers  to  open  amid  the  springing  grass 
and  by  the  border  of  the  groves.  We-no-na's  winter  experiences  had 
given  her  a  feeling  of  independence  and  self-reliance,  which  was  in 
itself  a  great  source  of  happiness.  Never  before  had  she  known  the 
true  luxury  of  freedom.  If  heretofore  she  had  roamed  the  prairie,  01 
paddled  the  canoe,  it  was  but  to  anticipate  her  degradation  the  mo 
ment  she  should  enter  the  filthy  hovels  where  her  people  were  herded. 
She  had  a  womanly  sense  of  neatness,  which  now  she  could  indulge 
unchecked.  She  delighted  in  nature,  and  her  delight  was  now 
unmarred  by  embittering  associations.  She  grew  in  stature  and  in 
beauty,  and  in  strength  and  fleetness;  and  as  she  snuffed  the  pure 
morning  breeze,  and  saw  the  sun  crimsoning  the  eastern  clouds,  or  as 
she  looked  up  to  the  starry  heavens,  or  to  the  coruscations  of  the 
Aurora  by  night,  she  would  exclaim:  "Yes,  the  GREAT  SPIRIT  is 
generous  and  good ;  it  is  man  only  who  is  bad,  and  who  spoils  the 
gifts  that  are  lavished  on  his  race !" 

It  was  one  of  the  last  days  of  May,  when,  as  We-no-na  was 
descending  to  that  beautiful  prairie,  where  the  little  house  now  stands, 
she  saw  a  red  strawberry  amid  the  grass,  and  plucked  it.  She  then 
remembered  Ish-te-nah's  injunction,  and  walked  musingly  back  to  her 
wigwam.  It  was  almost  with  a  pang  of  regret  that  she  prepared  to 
leave  this  beautiful  region.  All  the  means  of  subsistence  seemed  so 
abundant  around  her ;  earth,  air,  and  water  seemed  so  kind  in  render 
ing  up  their  stores ;  and  then,  as  summer  came  on,  the  whole  land 
scape  was  clothed  in  such  affluent  beauty ;  the  verdant  bluffs  swept  in 
such  graceful  curves  to  the  water's  edge;  and  the  distant  prairie 


106  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

began  to  heave  its  sparkling  waves  of  green  so  luxuriantly !  But 
might  there  not  be  fair  spots  eastward  of  the  lake  1  She  would  go,  as 
Ish-te-nah  had  recommended ;  but  first  she  would  collect,  as  a  memo 
rial,  some  of  the  beautiful  stones  scattered  along  the  shore. 

These  stones,  as  you  are  aware,  are  agates  and  cornelians ;  and 
Lake  Pepin  has  yielded  them  in  abundance  for  many  years. 

We-no-na  descended  and  ran  along  the  shore  as  far  as  the  point 
we  are  now  skirting.  She  would  stop  here  and  there  to  pick  up  a 
handful  of  agates,  and  then,  as  she  saw  others  more  beautiful,  she 
would  throw  aside  those  she  had  gathered,  and  replace  them  with  new 
treasures.  She  was  thus  lured  on  to  wander  several  miles ;  and  the 
evening  twilight  was  far  advanced  before  she  regained  her  wigwam. 
It  was  now  too  late  to  start  upon  her  pilgrimage.  No  matter ;  she 
would  commence  it  early  the  next  morning. 

When  morning  came,  there  were  many  preparations  to  make ; 
and  the  sun  had  been  up  a  couple  of  hours  before  she  had  set  forth  on 
her  journey.  She  carried  her  canoe  fastened  by  a  strap  to  her  back, 
her  hatchet  and  arrows  in  her  belt,  and  provision  for  several  days  in 
a  pouch  of  deer-skin  that  hung  at  her  side.  What  was  her  dismay, 
after  descending  the  hill  and  passing  through  yonder  little  belt  of 
woodland,  on  coming  suddenly  upon  an  Indian  encampment!  She 
paused,  hoping  to  retreat  unseen;  but  this  was  now  impossible. 
Several  Indians  started  up  and  approached  her,  and  a  second  glance 
was  not  needed  to  assure  her  that  among  them  she  saw  her  father 
and  mother  and  her  hated  suitor,  Ha-o-kah.  This  worthy  chief  had 
made  the  lives  of  the  old  people  somewhat  uncomfortable  from  his 
repeatedly  twitting  them  with  the  fact  that  he  had  bought  their 
daughter  of  them  twice  over,  and  been  cheated  out  of  the  purchase. 
As  Ha-o-kah  had  no  small  degree  of  influence  in  the  tribe,  the  old 
couple  felt  very  uneasy  at  their  daughter's  dereliction,  it  having 
placed  them  in  the  position  of  debtors  to  one  who  evidently,  by 
his  frequent  taunts  and  dunning,  was  not  disposed  to  let  them  sleep 
over  the  debt  they  had  incurred. 

There  was,  consequently,  an  exclamation  of  general  surprise  and 
satisfaction  at  the  appearance  of  We-no-na.  Her  first  act  was  to 
disencumber  herself  of  her  canoe,  and  every  thing  that  could  impede 


ON    LAKE    PEPIN.  107 

her  flight.  She  then  placed  an  arrow  in  the  string  of  her  bow,  and, 
retreating  a  few  steps,  called  upon  the  approaching  party  to  stop. 
There  was  something  so  imperious  in  her  tone  that  they  instantly 
obeyed.  She  then  briefly  told  them  that  she  had  withdrawn  from 
her  tribe ;  that  she  looked  to  none  of  them  for  support ;  and  that 
she  wished  to  be  alone.  To  this  her  father  replied  in  violent  lan 
guage,  ordering  her  to  come  to  him.  She  refused  by  a  significant 
gesture.  He  ran  forward  to  meet  her,  but  she  soon  doubled  the 
distance  between  them.  With  true  Indian  craft,  he  then  changed 
his  policy,  and  asked  We-no-na  whiningly  if  she  would  not  come 
to  her  dear,  affectionate  parents?  At  the  same  time,  We-no-na 
could  see  him  threaten  her  mother  with  his  hatchet,  bidding  her 
to  join  in  his  entreaties  and  lamentations.  This  the  old  woman 
readily  did.  But  We-no-na  was  inexorable.  Then  the  amiable 
Ha-o-kah  approached ;  but  as  We-no-na  aimed,  or  pretended  to  aim, 
an  arrow  at  him,  he  dodged  behind  a  bush,  and  begged  her  to  hear 
him.  This,  she  assured  him,  she  would  do  if  he  would  stay  where  he 
was.  Ha-o-kah  then  informed  her  that  he  had  bought  her  in  fair 
trade  of  her  parents,  and  that  in  common  honesty  she  ought  to  come 
and  be  his  wife ;  he  told  her  that  he  had  but  three  wives,  all  of  whom 
were  happy  women ;  he  had  been  very  successful  in  hunting,  and  had 
collected  a  good  number  of  skins,  beside  a  quantity  of  bear's-grease ; 
he  had  also  taken  the  scalp  of  a  Pawnee,  and  stolen  a  horse ;  in  short, 
there  was  not  a  young  woman  in  the  tribe  who  would  not  be  proud 
of  the  position  he  now  offered  to  the  disdainful  We-no-na. 

We-no-na,  leaning  scornfully  on  her  bow,  replied :  "  Thief  of  a 
Dahcotah,  your  wife  I  will  never  be !  You  say  you  have  but  three  : 
there  was  a  fourth,  who  died  of  a  blow  from  her  husband.  What  a 
brave  he  must  be !  There  is  another,  who  is  blind  of  an  eye.  How 
did  she  lose  it,  O  great  warrior,  with  your  one  scalp,  and  that,  I  will 
venture  to  say,  a  woman's  ?  Never  will  I  be  your  wife  !  never  will  I 
be  one  of  your  people  again !  Go  vent  your  anger  upon  the  poor 
slaves  who  are  left  to  you,  and  be  content !" 

By  this  time  the  rage  of  Ha-o-kah  was  at  its  heignt ;  and,  regard 
less  of  danger,  he  rushed  forth  with  a  howl  to  seize  her  who  had 
dared  to  give  utterance  to  such  unwelcome  truths.  But  We-no-na, 


108  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

vigilant  as  a  wild-cat  and  swifter  than  the  deer,  gained  an  elevation 
from  which  she  again  aimed  an  arrow  at  her  pursuer.  He  threw 
himself  on  the  ground,  and  the  arrow  lodged  in  the  trunk  of  a  tree 
some  distance  behind.  With  a  yell,  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  strained 
every  sinew  to  overtake  We-no-na ;  but,  with  the  ease  and  grace  of  an 
antelope,  she  outran  him.  All  the  young  men  of  the  encampment 
were  by  this  time  in  full  chase ;  for  they  knew  that  they  need  expect 
no  grace  from  Ha-o-kah  unless  they  were  officious  in  assisting  him. 
We-no-na  ran  to  the  top  of  the  bluff,  where  her  wigwam  stood,  and 
threw  herself  panting  upon  a  bed  of  dry,  fragrant  grass,  that  she  had 
prepared  some  days  before.  She  had  rested  there  hardly  a  minute, 
when  the  sound  of  voices  and  footsteps  roused  her,  and,  springing  to 
her  feet,  she  saw  Ha-o-kah,  with  three  or  four  followers,  ascending  the 
hill-slope  from  the  south,  and  but  a  few  rods  distant.  In  a  frenzy  of 
indignation,  she  again  set  an  arrow  in  the  string,  and  exclaiming, 
"  This.  Ha-o-kah,  for  the  benefit  of  your  three  wives !"  shot  it  at  him 
before  he  had  time  to  turn  aside.  It  lodged  in  his  right  arm  above 
the  elbow,  disabling  it  materially  for  the  active  purposes  of  chastising 
his  wives  or  scalping  his  foes. 

The  pursuers  paused,  quite  confounded  at  this  audacious  shot; 
but  Ha-o-kah,  with  a  scream  of  mingled  rage  and  pain,  bade  them 
proceed,  and  they  dashed  on  toward  the  summit  of  the  bluff.  As 
they  mounted  it,  they  beheld  We-no-na  at  the  very  edge  of  the 
fearful  precipice,  looking  back  upon  them  with  a  determined 
glance.  "  Brave  woman-chasers !"  she  exclaimed,  "  let  me  see  you 
follow !" 

And,  with  the  words,  she  sprang  from  the  cliff,  some  sixty  feet  far 
out  among  the  trees  that  slope  from  the  base  of  the  wall  of  rock 
toward  the  water;  and  before  her  pursuers  could  reach  the  edge 
of  the  precipice,  she  had  swung  herself  from  bough  to  bough  into 
the  river. 

There  was  an  exclamation  of  horror  and  surprise  from  Ha-o-kah 
and  his  young  men  as  they  witnessed  this  intrepid  leap.  No  one 
cared  to  risk  his  neck  by  imitating  it.  They  separated,  and  ran 
round  each  side  of  the  bluff  toward  the  base ;  but  to  their  amazement 
could  see  no  trace  of  We-no-na,  Was  it  possible  that  she  had  leaped 


ON   LAKE    PEPIN.  109 

so  far  as  to  fall  into  the  water  ?  Incredible  as  this  seemed,  it  was  the 
conclusion  to  which  they  came. 

Poor  Ha-o-kah  was  a  good  deal  crest-fallen,  as,  with  his  wounded 
arm  in  a  sling,  he  rejoined  the  encampment.  His  three  wives  at  first 
exhibited  much  concern  on  seeing  him  wounded,  and  approached  him 
with  the  servility  he  habitually  exacted ;  but,  on  discovering  that  his 
arm  was  so  shattered  as  to  be  unfit  for  any  future  service,  they 
taunted  him  with  his  misfortune,  and  manifested  a  wonderful  indif 
ference  to  his  sufferings.  He  looked  about  for  a  hatchet  to  throw  at 
one  of  them,  but  a  slight  motion  of  his  arm  reminded  him  of  his 
impotence,  and  he  changed  his  rough  tone  to  a  pleading  treble.  As 
his  influence  with  his  tribe  was  derived  chiefly  from  his  physical 
strength  and  skill,  and  not  from  his  wisdom  in  council,  he  at  once  fell 
into  insignificance,  and  soon  found  himself  restricted  to  a  single  wife, 
whom  he  never  spoke  to  but  in  terms  of  profound  respect. 

The  pursuers  all  reported  that  "We-no-na  was  drowned :  it  would 
have  been  a  poor  compliment  to  their  speed  and  sagacity  to  suppose 
otherwise.  Almost  every  version  of  the  tradition  of  "We-no-na's 
Rock"  adopts  their  story.  But  it  does  not  follow  that,  because  they 
could  not  find  her,  she  was  drowned.  On  the  contrary,  there  is  in 
the  very  fact  a  presumption  that  she  escaped.  The  truth  is,  that 
We-no-na,  who  was  a  most  adroit  swimmer,  did  escape.  Swimming 
across  the  river,  she  concealed  herself  awhile,  and  then  took  up  her 
journey  toward  the  east.  She  crossed  the  territory  which  now  con 
stitutes  the  width  of  the  State  of  Wisconsin,  and  arrived  at  Green 
Bay  early  in  August.  Here,  at  the  point  where  Fort  La  Baye  was 
subsequently  erected,  she  found  a  French  exploring  party,  under  the 
conduct  of  several  Jesuit  missionaries.  She  attached  herself  to  it, 
and  soon  made  herself  useful. 

A  young  Parisian  of  education  and  refinement,  and  a  devout 
Catholic  withal,  named  La  Crosse,  was  seriously  ill  of  a  fever ;  and 
We-no-na  was  appointed  to  watch  and  nurse  him.  This  she  did 
with  so  much  patience  and  fidelity,  that  La  Crosse  was  seriously 
impressed ;  and  no  sooner  was  he  restored  to  health  than  he  informed 
Father  Duhesme  of  his  desire  of  espousing  We-no-na.  The  worthy 
father  said  that  this  could  not  be  done  until  the  maiden  was  made  a 


110  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

good  Catholic;  and  they  both  forthwith  applied  themselves  to  her 
conversion.  This  was  a  longer  process  than  they  anticipated.  It 
was  some  time  before  We-no-na  acquired  sufficient  French  to  under 
stand  their  purpose ;  and  then  she  had  so  many  posing  questions  to 
ask,  that  the  learned  missionary  frequently  thought  she  must  be 
especially  instigated  by  Satan  in  the  unlooked-for  difficulties  she 
raised. 

At  length  the  maiden's  intelligence  seemed  to  pierce  to  the  pith 
of  the  matter,  relieved  of  all  its  bewildering  husks,  forms,  and 
wrappings.  The  beauty  and  holiness  of  Christian  morality  dawned 
upon  her  benighted  soul,  and  reconciled  her  fully  and  cordially  to 
the  Christian  religion.  It  was  to  her,  in  truth,  a  revelation,  and 
was  received  in  earnestness  and  faith.  She  was  baptized  and  mar 
ried. 

The  party  returned  soon  after  to  Montreal.  La  Crosse  became 
the  chief  man  of  one  of  the  beautiful  villages  on  the  St.  Lawrence. 
We-no-na  adapted  herself  eagerly  to  the  habits  and  tastes  of  civilized 
life.  Sometimes,  as  the  happy  pair  sat  on  their  broad  piazza  amid 
roses  and  honeysuckle,  with  their  little  half-breeds  playing  before  them, 
La  Crosse,  to  make  his  wife's  eyes  flash  with  their  old  barbarian  fire, 
would  express  a  pretended  preference  for  the  freedom  of  savage-life, 
and,  sighing,  wish  that  they  were  among  the  Dahcotahs ;  a  wish  which 
never  failed  to  call  forth  an  indignant  rebuke  from  We-no-na.  On 
one  occasion  her  husband,  to  please  some  wandering  Iroquois,  daubed 
his  face  with  ochre,  grease,  and  charcoal,  threw  a  blanket  over  his 
shoulders,  decorated  his  head  with  feathers,  took  a  scalping-knife 
in  one  hand  and  a  tomahawk  in  the  other,  and,  with  genuine  French 
versatility,  joined  in  a  war-dance.  But  when  he  found  that  his  dis 
guise  disturbed  We-no-na,  so  that  she  wept  passionately,  he  threw  it 
aside,  never  to  resume  it. 

A  proud  woman  was  she,  when,  with  her  two  boys  and  a  little  girl, 
La  Crosse  first  drove  her  up,  in  a  painted  sledge,  to  the  little  Catholic 
church  where  Sunday  service  was  held.  No  wonder  that  the  emotion 
of  gratitude  surpassed  all  others  as  she  knelt  in  prayer.  A  still 
prouder  woman  was  she,  when  her  children  could  read  and  write, 
and  one  of  her  boys  attained  such  proficiency  on  the  bass-viol  that 


ON    LAKE    PEPIN.  Ill 

he  was  employed  by  the  priest  to  lead  the  choir  in  church.  They 
grew  up  a  bright  intelligent  race,  and  We-no-na  lived  to  see  them  all 
happily  settled  upon  adjoining  farms. 

And  this  is  the  end  of  "We-no-na's  Rock/' 


9t$m  in 


BY   W.    P.    PALMER. 


adiit  Kegemque  tremendum."— VIEGIL. 

Is  this  awful  presence  real  ? 

This  grim  PLUTO'S  dread  domain  ? 
Or  not,  rather,  some  ideal 

Phantom  of  a  troubled  brain? 
Nay,  it  is  no  mocking  vision 

Born  of  frenzied  hope  or  fear, 
And  my  heart  with  calm  decision, 

"Whispers,  Minstrel,  be  of  cheer ! 

Lo !  the  first  of  living  mortals 

That  e'er  crossed  the  Stygian  wave ! 
Do  not  spurn  me  from  your  portals, 

Hold  not  back  the  boon  I  crave ! 
By  that  queenly  form  beside  thee, 

Rapt  from  Enna's  flowery  fold, 
King  of  Hades,  do  not  chide  me 

If  I  seem  unseemly  bold ! 

Rocks  and  woods  my  footsteps  follow, 

"Wildest  streams  in  silence  stand, 
"When  thy  golden  gift,  APOLLO, 

Melts  in  music  to  my  hand 
Shall  its  tones  prove  less  enchanting 

Here,  than  in  yon  world  above, 
When  its  master,  pale  and  panting, 

Pleads  the  cause  of  life  and  love  ? 
8 


114  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Let  me  try  what  magic  slumbers, 

Lyre,  in  thy  melodious  chords, 
"When  to  music's  sweetest  numbers 

Sorrow  lends  still  sweeter  words : 
See !  the  Furies  lean  to  listen, 

ATROPOS  relenting  hears ; 
Nay,  e'en  PLUTO'S  stern  eyes  glisten ; 

PROSERPINE'S  are  drowned  in  tears ! 

Oh !  how  sweet  your  answer  falleth 

On  my  spirit,  rapt  and  still ! 
"  Fate  thy  loved  one's  doom  recalleth, 

Mortal,  thou  shalt  have  thy  will : 
She  for  whom  thy  soul  is  yearning, 

Sunward  shall  thy  steps  retrace ; 
But  beware,  the  while,  of  turning 

Once  to  gaze  upon  her  face  1" 

Shall  I,  then,  again  behold  her, 

As  in  days  so  fondly  blest  ? 
Shall  these  widowed  arms  enfold  her, 

These  lorn  lips  to  hers  be  prest  ? 
Oh !  the  sad  yet  sweet  confession 

Of  a  rapture  so  intense ! 
Silence  were  its  best  expression, 

Tears  its  truest  eloquence ! 

See,  yon  golden  gate  discloses 

Glimpses  of  the  blissful  bowers, 
TVhere  immortal  youth  reposes, 

Crowned  with  amaranthine  flowers ; 
And  as  SHE  the  threshold  crosses, 

From  the  fields  of  asphodel 
Comes  a  swell  of  spirit-voices, 

Softly  murmuring,  Fare  thee  well ! 

Kindly  ones,  your  parting  blessing 
Fate  shall  tenderly  fulfill! 

In  my  arms,  caressed,  caressing, 
She  shall  find  Elysium  still; 


ORPHEUS    IN   HADES.  115 

For  wherever  truth  and  duty 

Link  the  loving,  heart  to  heart, 
Your  fair  world  in  all  its  beauty 

Sees  its  perfect  counterpart. 

GTrieve  not,  dearest,  that  thy  lover 

Leads  thee  with  averted  face  ; 
Once  the  Stygian  bourne  well  over, 

How  he  '11  fly  to  thy  embrace ! 
But  till  that  dear  consummation, 

Let  the  thought  bring  mutual  cheer, 
That  in  deepest  obscuration 

Each  to  each  is  ever  near. 

Lo !  already,  faintly  gleaming, 

Par  Avernus  dawns  to  sight ! 
Down  whose  dusky  caverns  streaming 

Glance  the  golden  shafts  of  light : 
As  they  brighter  fall  around  thee, 

Fainter  pleads  my  hapless  vow ; 
Nay,  though  thousand  oaths  had  bound  me, 

I  must  see  thee,  here  and  now ! 

Fairest  of  all  fairest  faces, 

Oh !  the  rapture,  once,  once  more, 
To  behold  those  dimpled  graces 

Lovelier  than  e'er  before ! 
But,  alas,  the  hopes  they  waken 

Vanish  like  a  frighted  bird, 
Ah  I  so  soon  to  be  forsaken 

By  a  bliss  so  long  deferred ! 

Back,  ye  Gorgons,  grimly  glaring 

"Where  the  rosy  vision  fled ; 
All  your  banded  fury  daring, 

I  again  will  seek  the  dead ! 
Vain,  vain  boast !  for  ever  vanished 

Is  thy  dream  the  loved  to  free  ; 
By  thine  own  blind  passion  vanished, 

Justest  Fates,  too,  banish  thee. 


116  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Yet  ye  have  not  all  bereft  me, 

Parcfe,  spurned  from  Lethe's  shore ; 
This  dear  solace  stiU  is  left  me, 

That  I'  ve  seen  her  face  once  more ! 
And  whatever  hence  betide  me, 

That  fair  vision,  day  and  night, 
Like  a  cynosure  shall  guide  me 

To  her  own  blest  Land  of  Light  1 

NEW-YOBK,  1854 


ISU0. 


BY     EEV.     GEOEGE     W,     BETHUNE,     D.D 

IT  is  not  long  since  that  Hamilton  County,  with  the  whole  region 
lying  between  the  fertile  slopes  of  the  Mohawk  and  Lake  Champlain, 
was  known  but  as  a  vast,  mountainous,  cold  tract,  presenting  the 
extreme  contrast  of  a  primeval  forest,  traversed  only  by  the  hunter 
of  the  deer,  the  bear,  and  the  moose.  Here  and  there  an  agricultural 
settler  along  its  borders  snatched  a  scanty  harvest  from  the  brief  sum 
mer,  and  on  the  eastern  side  the  lumberman  pursued  his  wintry  toil ; 
but,  once  past  the  log-cabin  of  the  one  or  the  shanty  of  the  other,  it 
was  literally  a  howling  wilderness,  where  the  yell  of  the  wolf,  the 
scream  of  the  panther,  and  the  laughter  of  the  owl  mingled  with  the 
roar  of  floods  and  the  moanings  of  the  winds  through  the  tall  hemlocks. 
Now  the  marvellous  beauty  of  its  scenery,  more  wildly  grand  than  any 
other  in  North-America,  diversified  by  many  lakes  of  crystal  purity 
and  their  foaming  outlets,  have  been  so  often  eloquently  described  by 
adventurous  litterateurs  in  search  of  the  picturesque,  trout,  and  copy- 
money,  that  a  tour  through  Kacquette  and  the  Saranac  is  getting  to 
be  well-nigh  as  readily  undertaken  as  a  trip  to  the  Upper  Nile.  Even 
ladies  have  ventured  a  day  or  two  within  the  shadows,  and  before 
long  the  solitary  Indian,  who  lingers  in  the  hunting-grounds  of  his 
fathers,  or  the  moccasined  woodsman,  paddling  his  "  birch,"  will  be 
startled  by  flotillas  gay  with  fashionable  drapery,  and  listen,  in  won 
dering  delight,  to  the  songs  of  Verdi  and  Auber  among  the  echoes  of 
Blue  Mountain.  Lines  of  rival  railways  have  already  been  traced 
through  the  gorges  and  along  the  streams ;  speculation  has  been  busy 
with  the  timber-lots,  and  soon  the  glory  of  the  forest,  unbroken 


118  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

since  time  began  until  now,  will  be  floating  down  the  St.  Lawrence 
and  the  Hudson,  or  whirled  at  the  tail  of  the  locomotive  to  the  sea 
side.  The  most  zealous  utilitarian  might  sadden  over  the  coming 
change,  were  it  not  that  a  century  must  go  by  before  the  industry  of 
man,  though  that  man  be  a  Yankee,  can  strip  the  rocky  heights  of 
their  ever-green  luxuriance. 

Following  from  the  Mohawk  side,  and  after  crossing  the  hill  which 
bounds  that  valley,  the  bank  of  the  noble  Sacondaga  (beau-ideal  of  a 
trout  river  to  an  angler  who  is  content  to  wade  deeply  for  a  free  cast 
under  the  elms  on  pool  or  rapid)  to  the  neat  little  inn  of  Francisco, 
and  then  crossing  a  spur  of  the  mountain-range  by  a  road  rough  as 
the  bed  of  a  torrent,  the  traveller  will  find  himself  gazing  on  the 
placid  waters  and  rich  shores  of  Lake  Pleasant,  named  by  no  flatter 
ing  tongue,  for  a  more  lovely  scene  has  seldom  greeted  the  eye  of 
poet  or  artist ;  and,  yet  farther  on,  connected  with  it  by  a  short  strait, 
Round  Lake  sparkles  like  a  bowl  of  silver  wreathed  with  verdant  gar 
land.  Here  several  dwellings,  with  one  or  two  flourishing  farms,  are 
clustered  about  the  county  buildings,  and  a  well-kept  hotel  opens  its 
doors  in  welcome  to  a  table  spread  with  luxuries  unknown  among  the 
dwellers  on  the  plain.  At  the  time  when  the  incidents  happened  of 
which  I  am  about  to  write,  the  explorer,  if  not  accustomed  to  wood 
craft,  or  bent  upon  adventure,  tempted  the  difficulties  of  the  way  no 
farther ;  nor  was  he  indisposed  to  linger,  where,  with  comfort  at  night 
and  plenty  by  day,  he  could  win  rich  trophies  for  both  rod  and  gun, 
or  enjoy  the  beauty  around  him  varying  with  dawn  and  evening,  sun 
light  and  cloud.  But  perseverance  for  two  or  three  hours  would 
bring  him  to  another  lake,  the  Piseco,  far  more  lovely,  at  least  in  the 
judgment  of  one  rendered  perhaps  partial  by  memories  of  happy 
days  of  many  an  early  summer  spent  in  contemplating  its  virgin 
charms,  traversing  its  pure  bosom  and  enjoying  the  society  of  a  half- 
dozen  kindred  spirits,  far  from  the  dust  of  cities,  the  turmoil  of  trade, 
and  the  frivolities  of  artificial  life. 

In  this  country,  especially,  the  extreme  heats  that  alternate  with 
our  cold  winters,  and,  still  more,  the  suicidal  intensity  with  which  the 
American  follows  his  calling,  render  some  relief  necessary  to  mind, 
body,  and  heart ;  nor  can  any  of  us  who  live  in  towns  pass  from  the 


PISECO.  119 

exhaustions  of  one  season  to  those  of  the  next  without  some  interval 
of  change,  and  not  suffer  loss  of  physical  vigor,  intellectual  force,  and 
moral  health.  HE  who,  in  His  wise  goodness,  has  made  us  so  "  fear 
fully  and  wonderfully,"  never  intended  our  material  or  spiritual  struc 
ture  for  such  constant  excess.  The  birth-place  of  man  was  amidst 
trees,  and  herbage,  and  flowing  waters.  There  are  the  works  of  GOD, 
and  there,  as  to  our  early  home,  should  we  at  times  turn  to  freshen 
our  being,  and  listen  to  the  voice  of  HIM  who  talked  in  Paradise  with 
His  children.  It  is  not  relaxation  that  we  need.  Our  straining  of 
nerve  and  thought,  to  say  nothing  of  worse  habits  incident  to  our  per 
verted  modes  of  life,  has  already  too  much  relaxed  our  faculties  by 
recoil  from  the  tension.  What  our  nature  demands  is  invigoration,  a 
bracing  of  the  frame,  a  quickening  of  the  mind,  an  uplifting  of  the 
heart,  an  inhalation  of  fresh  life  from  its  original  sources,  that 
will  enable  us  to  grapple  more  strenuously  with  care,  and  duty, 
and  temptation.  This  can  not  be  gained  in  the  crowded  saloons  of 
watering-places,  or  at  the  lordly  country-seat,  to  which  have  been 
transferred  the  appliances  of  courtly  gratification,  or  by  rushing  over 
the  rapid  rail,  or  on  packed  steamers,  to  haunts  of  hackneyed  resorts, 
merely  to  say  that  we  have  made  the  fashionable  tour.  These  give 
us  no  opportunity  to  think,  no  motive  to  repent  and  resolve  anew. 
We  are  still  fettered  by  conventionalities.  The  wearisome  monotony 
of  whirling  excitements  still  sickens  our  aching  brain.  We  must 
break  away  from  the  crowd.  We  must  reach  a  spot  where  distance 
will  give  soberness  to  our  view  of  our  usual  occupations,  scenes  where 
we  can  gather  ideas,  sentiments,  and  emotions,  not  from  worldly  dic 
tation  or  even  the  page  covered  with  other  men's  thoughts ;  where 
we  can  hold  intercourse  with  our  fellow-men  who  spend  their  days 
more  simply ;  but,  above  all,  where  we  can  be  alone  with  GOD  among 
the  works  of  His  hands,  and  hear,  answering  to  our  own,  the  pulses 
of  the  INFINITE  HEART  which  fills  the  universe  with  truth  and  love. 

The  student,  long  shut  up  within  his  library,  and  the  servant  of 
his  race  in  religious  or  philanthropic  offices,  need  such  a  change  quite 
as  much  as  men  of  business  or  pleasure.  Books,  precious  as  they  are 
for  enlargement  of  knowledge  and  instruction  from  the  past,  may  be 
abused  beyond  their  proper  function.  Classical,  scholastic,  and  (in  its 


120  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

general  sense)  sectarian  forms,  constrict  and  distort  both  the  judg 
ment  and  the  feeling.  What  we  proudly  term  analysis  and  system 
are  too  often  but  an  arbitrary  classification,  under  whose  heads  we, 
Procrustes-like,  compress  or  stretch  out  truths  which  were  never 
meant  to  take  such  exact  or  fixed  shapes,  but  should  be  allowed  con 
fluence  and  commixture,  losing,  like  the  hues  of  nature,  all  rigidness 
of  outline  in  harmony  and  kindred.  What  a  world  of  labor  have 
metaphysicians  wasted,  by  forgetting  that  they  are  not  mathema 
ticians,  and  endeavoring  to  hew  the  "  lively  stones"  into  such  shape  as 
may  be  fixed  in  a  building  of  their  architecture !  How  near  the  mate 
rialist  has  the  self-styled  idealist  come  by  such  affectations !  Too 
much  learning,  (the  scoffer  was  right,)  or,  rather,  learning  too  much 
by  itself,  will  make  a  wise  man  mad.  We  may  hide  our  souls  from 
our  own  view  by  our  parchments,  and  look  out  upon  the  world  of 
humanity  through  obstinate  hypotheses  as  false  as  gnarled  window- 
panes.  Critics  have  done  laughing  at  Wordsworth's  early  puerilities, 
but  every  close  student  feels  the  force  of  the  Laker's  exhortation : 

"IT?  I  up  !  my  friend,  and  clear  your  looks ! 

Why  all  this  toil  and  trouble  ? 
Up  I  up !  my  friend,  and  quit  your  books, 
Or  surely  you  '11  grow  double !" 

Double  indeed !  deformed  in  mind  as  well  as  body. 

Nor  will  it  answer  to  attempt  such  recuperation  by  force  of  will 
alone.  Accustomed  to  earnest  occupation,  we  can  not  change  the 
habit  which  has  become  a  law  to  us.  Though  we  leave  office, 
counting-room,  or  library  behind  us,  our  calling  will  pursue  us,  and 
force  our  thoughts  into  their  ordinary  ruts.  The  man  of  business 
will  be  calculating  his  risks;  the  studious  man  working  out  his 

theories. 

"  POST  equitem  sedet  atra  cura," 

We  can  not  shake  the  tormentor  from  the  crupper,  but  must  dis 
mount  from  our  hobby.  We  can  rid  ourselves  of  one  pursuit  only 
by  adopting  another  —  another  lighter,  less  imperious ;  amusing,  but 
not  engrossing;  releasing  the  mind,  but  not  binding  it  again.  We 
must  have  play  instead  of  work  ;  yet  play  that  will  be  occupation. 


PISECO.  121 

Hence  the  value  which  those  sturdy,  sober,  untranscendental,  un- 
medieeval  thinkers,  the  Scotch  writers,  have  set  upon  field-sports  and 
exercises  which  carry  them  out  among  the  heather,  over  the  moun 
tain,  and  along  the  stream.  Christopher  North,  (green  be  the  turf 
above  him ! )  "  under  canvas,"  was  worth  more  as  a  philosopher, 
aye,  as  a  philosopher,  than  any  cobweb-spinning  German,  or  back 
ward-looking  Oxonian  that  ever  ignored  common  humanity  and  its 
every-day  experience.  Dyspepsia  never  soured  his  moral  sentiments, 
and,  content  with  the  cheerful  sun,  he  left  twilight  to  owls  and  bats. 

Views  like  these  led  the  little  band  of  friends  already  spoken  of 
to  the  Piseco,  on  whose  romantic  bank  they  had  built  a  simple  lodge, 
and  whose  waters  abounded  with  several  varieties  of  that  aquatic 
family,  whose  charms  inspired  Davy,  not  less  admirable  as  a  moralist 
than  an  illustrator  of  natural  science,  to  write  his  Salmonia.  Some 
of  them  were  shrewd  and  successful  in  business;  some  of  them 
more  given  to  books ;  one  of  them  a  preacher  of  Good  News, 
who  loved  his  work,  called  Chaplain,  not  without  warrant,  for  his 
office  was  no  sinecure;  and  all  of  them  "honest,  civil,  and 
temperate,"  as  all  anglers  should  be,  and  as  (according  to  Izaak 
Walton's  infallible  authority)  all  true  anglers  are.  The  lake  is 
about  seven  miles  long,  and  nearly  a  mile  and  a  half  wide.  Several 
bays  are  curved  out  of  the  shore,  the  deepest,  at  the  lower  end, 
called  from  an  Indian,  the  stories  told  of  whose  life  might  make  the 
whole  tradition  apocryphal,  had  he  not  left  his  name,  Girondicut 
(the  spelling  is  uncertain)  to  the  most  exquisite  part  of  the  water. 
Some  buildings,  most  of  them  abandoned  to  decay,  show  like  a 
peaceful  hamlet  at  the  upper  end,  but  are  hidden  by  a  wooded  pro 
montory  from  the  lodge,  before  whose  humble  porch  a  cleared  field, 
flourishing  with  corn  and  grass,  slopes  gently  toward  the  lake. 
Everywhere  else  Nature  is  in  her  wildest  grace  or  most  sublime 
magnificence. 

Up  in  the  morning  with  the  thrush,  (the  lark  Piseco  knows  not, 
but  the  thrush  is  as  early,)  each  in  his  well-trimmed  boat,  rowed  by 
a  sinewy  woodsman,  with  a  rod  out  over  each  side,  the  friends  parted 
to  troll  in  various  directions,  never  so  intent  on  their  game  as  not 
to  enjoy  the  shadows  deep  in  the  clear  waters,  or  watch  the  mists,  as 


122  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

rolling  away  they  revealed  the  mountains  piled  in  grand  clusters,  or 
stretching  farther  and  farther,  ridge  over  ridge,  until  their  undulating 
lines  were  lost  in  the  blue  sky.  Nay,  if  truth  be  told,  many  a 
finny  prowler  escaped  the  fate  due  to  his  murderous  appetite, 
because  the  thoughts  of  the  angler  were  wandering  in  delicious 
day-dreams,  or  aspiring  gratefully  to  GOD,  who  has  made  our 
way  to  heaven  lie  through  a  world  so  beautiful.  The  sultry 
noon  found  them  under  the  shadow  of  spreading  birch  trees,  near  a 
spring  of  icy  coldness,  where,  after  a  rude  but  welcome  meal,  they 
were  wont  to  recline  on  a  bank  carpeted  by  blossoming  strawberry- 
vines,  with  the  low  dash  of  the  rippling  wave  in  their  ear.  Then  it 
was  that  stories  of  the  morning  sport,  innocuous  jests,  and,  not 
seldom,  grave  yet  pleasant  discourse,  sped  the  moments  to  the 
cooler  hours  when  the  boats  were  manned  again,  and  they  parted 
until  the  shadows  fell :  then  another  chat  over  the  fragrant  "  cup  that 
cheers,  but  not  inebriates,"  and  to  sleep  soundly  and  sweetly  till  the 
sun  roused  them  to  renewed  gratifications.  News  of  political  strife, 
pressures  in  the  money-market,  or  foreign  wars,  never  penetrated 
those  pure,  peaceful  solitudes.  The  nearest  post-office  was  many 
miles  away  across  the  mountains,  and  tidings  only  of  the  beloved 
ones  at  home  were  allowed  to  come. 

Those  days  are  gone  by,  and  the  cheer  of  those  friends  will  never 
be  heard  over  those  waters  again.  One,  the  most  revered  of  all, 
sleeps  in  a  holy  grave,  and  his  memory  fades  not  in  the  hearts  of  his 
comrades ;  in  other  haunts  of  wild  nature  they  greet  each  other  with 
unabated  affection ;  but  for  them  Piseco  is  a  word  of  memory,  not 
of  hope. 

The  Sabbath  there  had  peculiar  charms.  No  church-going  bell 
rang  through  the  woods,  no  decorated  temple  lifted  its  spire ;  but 
the  hush  of  divine  rest  was  upon  all  around,  a  sense  of  the  HOLY 
ONE  rested  on  the  spirit,  the  birds  sang  more  sweetly,  the  dews 
of  the  morning  shimmered  more  brightly,  and  the  sounds  of  the 
forest  were  like  the  voice  of  psalms.  As  the  day  went  on  toward 
noon,  the  inhabitants,  whose  dwellings  were  scattered  for  miles 
around,  some  down  the  rocky  paths,  others  in  boats  on  the  lake, 
singly  or  in  companies,  men,  women,  and  little  ones,  might  be  seen 


PISECO.  123 

drawing  near  to  the  lodge,  where,  when  all  assembled,  they  formed  a 
respectful  and  willing  congregation  of  perhaps  fifty  worshippers, 
and  listened  to  the  words  of  the  preacher,  who  sought  to  lead 
them  by  the  Gospel  of  the  Cross  through  nature  up  to  the  GOD 
of  grace.  Such  opportunities  were  rare  for  them;  never,  indeed, 
was  a  sermon  heard  there  except  on  these  occasions.  The  devout 
(for  GOD  the  Saviour  had  a  "  few  names"  among  them)  "  received  the 
word  with  gladness;"  all  were  attentive,  and  their  visitors  found, 
when  joining  with  them  in  the  primitive  service,  a  religious  power 
seldom  felt  in  more  ceremonious  homage. 

On  one  of  those  sacred  days  there  came  among  the  rest  two  young, 
graceful  women,  whose  air  and  dress  marked  them  as  of  a  superior 
cultivation.  Their  modest  voices  enriched  the  trembling  psalmody, 
and  their  countenances  showed  strong  sympathy  with  the  preacher's 
utterances.  At  the  close  of  the  worship,  they  made,  through  one  of 
their  neighbors,  a  request  that  the  minister  would  pay  a  visit  to  their 
mother,  who  had  been  a  long  time  ill,  and  was  near  death.  A  pro 
mise  was  readily  given  that  he  would  do  so  the  same  day ;  but  their 
home  lay  four  miles  distant,  and  a  sudden  storm  forbade  the  attempt. 
The  Monday  morning  shone  brightly,  though  a  heavy  cloud  at  the 
west  suggested  precautions  against  a  thunder-shower.  The  friends 
parted  from  the  landing,  each  bent  upon  his  purpose ;  but  the  chap 
lain's  prow  was  turned  on  his  mission  of  comfort  to  the  sick.  Had 
any  prim  amateurs  of  ecclesiastical  conventionalities  seen  him  with 
his  broad-brimmed  hat,  necessary  for  shelter  from  the  sun,  a  green 
veil  thrown  around  it  as  defense  from  the  mosquitoes  near  the  shores, 
his  heavy  water-boots,  and  his  whole  garb  chosen  for  aquatic  exi 
gences,  (for,  like  Peter,  he  had  girt  his  fisher's  coat  about  him,)  they 
would  hardly  have  recognized  his  errand.  But  the  associations  of  the 
scene  with  the  MAN  OF  NAZARETH  and  the  Apostles  by  the  Sea  of  Gali 
lee,  were  in  his  soul,  carrying  him  back  to  the  primitive  Christianity, 
and  lifting  him  above  the  forms  with  which  men  have  overlaid  its  sim 
plicity.  The  boat  flew  over  the  placid  waters  in  which  lay  mirrored 
the  whole  amphitheatre  of  the  mountain-shores,  green  as  an  emerald. 
The  wooded  point  hid  the  lodge  on  the  one  side,  a  swelling  island  the 
hamlet  on  the  other.  No  trace  of  man  was  visible.  The  carol  of 


124  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

birds  came  off  from  the  land ;  now  and  then  the  exulting  merriment 
of  a  loon  rang  out  of  the  distance,  and  soon  a  soft,  southern  breeze, 
redolent  of  the  spicy  hemlock  and  cedar,  rippled  the  surface.  The 
Sabbath  had  transcended  its  ordinary  hours,  and  shed  its  sweet  bless 
ing  on  the  following  day.  His  rods  lay  idly  over  the  stern  as  the 
chaplain  thought  of  the  duty  before  him,  and  asked  counsel  of  the 
MASTER,  who  "  HIMSELF  bare  our  sicknesses  and  carried  our  sorrows." 
He  remembered  the  disciples  who  said,  "  LORD,  he  whom  thou  lovest 
is  sick ;"  and  the  gracious  answer,  "  This  sickness  is  not  unto  death, 
but  for  the  glory  of  GOD,  that  the  SON  OF  MAN  might  be  glorified 
thereby." 

It  is  not  imagination  merely  that  gives  such  power  to  the  living 
oracles,  when  they  come  to  us  where  the  testimony  of  nature  unites 
with  the  inspiration.  It  is  the  blessing  of  JESUS,  who  sought  the  wil 
derness,  the  shore,  and  the  mountain-side  to  gain  strength  from  com 
munion  with  his  FATHER.  It  was  in  such  solitudes  that  our  EXAMPLE 
and  FORERUNNER  found  courage  for  his  trial  and  suffering.  Religion  is 
eminently  social,  but  its  seat  is  the  heart  of  the  individual  believer, 
and,  whatever  be  the  advantage  of  Christian  fellowship,  the  flame 
must  be  fed  in  private,  personal  converse  with  the  FATHER  of  our 
spirits.  He  who  has  not  been  alone  with  GOD,  can  seldom  find  him 
in  the  crowded  church. 

A  brief  hour,  briefer  for  these  meditations,  brought  the  keel  of  the 
boat  to  a  gravelly  nook,  where  the  mouth  of  the  inlet  formed  a  little 
harbor.  There,  awaiting  the  chaplain's  arrival,  stood  a  tall,  upright 
man,  past  the  prime  of  life,  who,  with  a  style  of  courtesy  evidently 
foreign,  bared  his  gray  head,  and  greeted  his  visitor  by  name  as  a 
friend. 

"  You  have  kindly  come,  sir,  to  see  my  poor  wife ;  I  thank  you 
for  it.  She  is  now  expecting  you,  for  we  heard  the  sound  of  your 
oars  as  you  turned  the  island." 

A  rough  stone  house,  built  by  a  speculator  of  former  days, 
stood  on  a  knoll  a  little  way  from  the  stream,  and  the  garden  around 
it  was  trimmed  with  some  taste.  As  they  entered,  the  owner  said : 

"Welcome  to  the  mountain  dwelling  of  an  old  soldier!  He 
(pointing  to  an  engraved  portrait  of  Blucher,  wreathed  with  laurel 


PISECO.  125 

leaves,)  was  my  general,  whose  praise  I  once  received  as  I  lay 
wounded  on  the  field  of  battle.  I  am  a  Prussian,  Sir,  and  came  to 
this  country  when  my  father-land  had  no  farther  use  for  my  sword.  I 
have  not  been  successful  in  my  peaceful  life,  and  misfortune  after  mis 
fortune  drove  me  here,  hoping  to  gather  about  us  a  few  of  my  coun 
trymen,  and  make  a  German  home ;  but  in  that  I  was  disappointed. 
The  severe  winters  chilled  their  resolution,  and  now  we  are  by  our 
selves.  The  few  neighbors  about  us  are  not  of  our  class,  but  they  are 
kind  and  honest ;  and  the  world  has  nothing  to  tempt  me  back  to  it. 
I  have  one  brave  son  at  sea.  My  two  daughters  you  saw  yesterday. 
We  had  another,  but  she  sleeps  yonder." 

He  turned  abruptly  from  the  room.  The  chaplain,  left  to  him 
self,  observed  about  the  apartment  various  articles  of  refinement  and 
faded  luxury,  telling  the  story  of  more  prosperous  days.  His  subse 
quent  acquaintance  with  the  family  confirmed  his  first  impressions. 
Though  not  of  high  rank,  they  were  educated,  of  gentle  manners,  and, 
though  for  years  remote  from  cultivated  society,  preserved  the  ameni 
ties  which  now  distinguished  them.  Only  the  father  seemed  to  have 
suffered  for  want  of  occupation,  and,  not  unlikely,  from  habits  formed 
in  camp,  but  now  doubly  dangerous  in  seclusion. 

At  a  signal  from  another  room,  one  of  the  daughters  led  the  chap 
lain  to  the  bedside  of  the  sufferer.  The  father  sat  with  his  face  averted, 
near  an  open  window,  through  which  came  the  laughing  prattle  of  a 
child,  and  a  half-idiot  serving-woman  looked  in  wonderingly  across 
the  threshold  of  an  outer  kitchen.  The  daughters,  having  raised 
their  mother's  head  on  a  higher  pillow,  and  affectionately  smoothed 
her  thin  gray  hair  under  the  snow-white  cap,  withdrew  to  the  other 
side  of  the  bed.  The  chaplain  placed  his  broad  hat,  with  its  green 
veil,  on  the  little  table,  and  sat  silent  for  a  while,  not  knowing  how  to 
begin,  since,  as  yet,  nothing  had  given  him  a  clue  to  the  woman's  state 
of  mind.  She  lay  still  and  stone-like  ;  her  eyes  were  dry,  with  little 
"  speculation  "  in  them ;  her  lips  moved,  but  uttered  no  sound  ;  and 
her  hand,  feebly  stretched  out,  was  cold  and  stiff.  Her  whole  frame 
was  worn  to  extreme  thinness,  and  the  color  of  her  skin  told  that  the 
seat  of  her  disease  was  the  liver. 


126  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

At  length  the  chaplain,  seeing  that  her  soul  was  near  its  dread  pas 
sage  into  the  eternal  future,  said : 

"  I  am  sorry,  my  friend,  to  find  you  so  very  ill.  You  are  soon  to 
die." 

"Yes." 

"  It  is  a  fearful  thing  to  die ;  are  you  not  afraid  ]" 

"No." 

"  But  to  go  into  the  presence  of  GOD,  our  Judge,  is  a  most  solemn 
change." 

"Yes." 

"  And  are  you  not  afraid  1" 

"No." 

The  preacher  was  confounded.  The  short  answers,  almost  cold, 
without  emotion,  the  glazed  eye,  the  rigid  countenance,  caused  him  to 
doubt  whether  he  had  to  contend  with  ignorance  or  insensibility. 
Anxious  to  rouse  some  feeling,  if  possible,  to  startle  into  some  atten 
tion,  as  a  physician  applies  the  probe,  he  pushed  severe  declarations 
of  certain  judgment  and  the  danger  of  impenitence,  reminded  her 
that  CHRIST,  the  Saviour  of  the  believing,  will  be  the  Avenger  of  sin, 
and  that  "  there  is  no  work  or  device  in  the  grave,"  but  "  as  the  tree 
falls,  so  it  must  lie."  The  tearless  eye  unwinkingly  gazed  on  him, 
and  no  shrinking  followed  his  keen  surgery. 

"  Madam,  you  are  going  before  GOD,  and  do  you  not  fear  ?" 

A  faint  smile  stole  struggling  through  her  thin  features,  and  a  light, 
like  a  star  twinkling  under  a  deep  shadow,  was  seen  far  within  her 
eye,  and  pointing  with  her  finger  upward,  she  said,  in  a  firm,  low 
tone: 

"  Though  HE  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  HIM." 

The  chaplain  bowed  his  head  on  the  pillow  and  wept  thanks.  Here 
was  no  ignorant  or  callous  soul,  but  a  child  of  GOD,  whose  perfect  love 
had  cast  out  fear. 

"  Yes,  Christian  soul,  you  are  not  afraid  of  evil  tidings ;  your  heart 
is  fixed,  trusting  in  HIM  who  went  this  way  before  you.  Fear  no  evil ; 
His  rod  and  His  staff,  they  will  comfort  you." 

"Amen!  blessed  be  His  name,"  replied  the  dying  believer. 
"  It  is  true.  I  know  in  whom  I  have  believed,  and  that  HE  is  able  to 


PISECO.  127 

keep  what  I  have  committed  to  HIM.  Because  HE  hath  been 
my  Help,  therefore  under  His  wings  do  I  rejoice." 

It  seemed  now  as  if  the  fountain  of  her  speech  was  unsealed,  and, 
though  no  moisture  was  in  her  eyes,  and  the  few  drops  which  started 
out  on  her  forehead  were  cold  and  clammy,  and  the  worn  lineaments 
had  lost  the  power  to  smile,  and  she  lay  still  as  marble,  yet,  with  a 
voice  clear  and  unfaltering,  she  went  on  to  testify  her  faith  in  CHRIST, 
and  of  the  peace  that  filled  her  soul.  A  strength  denied  to  her  body 
came  from  within. 

"  Oh !  sir,  I  thank  you  for  coming ;  I  thank  GOD  for  sending  you 
to  me,  like  the  angel  to  Hagar  in  the  wilderness.  I  prayed  for  it. 
It  is  four  long  years  since  I  heard  the  voice  of  a  Christian  minister, 
and  all  that  time  I  prayed  for  one  to  hold  the  water  of  life  to  my  lips 
once  more.  Now  I  know  that  HE  has  heard  me;  blessed  be  His 
name !" 

The  preacher  interrupted  her  to  say  that  she  had  not  been  left  alone 
by  her  GOD,  who  needed  not  man's  lips  to  comfort  his  people. 

"Alone!  no,  never  alone!  I  have  seen  HIM  in  His  mighty 
works.  I  have  heard  HIM  in  the  storms  of  winter  and  in  the  summer 
winds.  I  had  my  Bible,  His  own  holy  word.  His  SPIRIT  has  been 
with  me.  But  I  thank  HIM  for  the  voice  of  His  commissioned 
servant,  whose  duty  is  to  comfort  His  people." 

The  reader  of  this  imperfect  sketch  can  have  little  idea  of  the  elo 
quence,  almost  supernatural,  pervaded  by  Scriptural  language  and 
imagery,  with  which  she  spoke.  It  was  the  soul  triumphing  over  the 
fainting  flesh ;  truth  in  its  own  energy,  unaided  by  human  expression ; 
a  voice  of  the  dead,  not  sepulchral,  but  of  one  near  the  gate  of 
heaven. 

The  chaplain  knelt  beside  the  bed  and  all  the  rest  knelt  with  him ; 
but  there  was  more  of  thanks  than  petition  in  his  prayer.  The  clouds 
that  hung  about  the  borders  of  eternity  were  so  bright  with  the  glory 
beyond,  that  sorrow  and  pain  were  forgotten  as  he  gave  utterance  to 
the  dying  woman's  memories  and  hopes,  the  memories  of  grace  and 
the  hopes  of  immortality  that  met  together  in  her  faithful  heart. 
Nor  need  I  add  that  his  own  gratitude  was  strong  to  the  GOOD 
SHEPHERD,  who  had  sent  him  to  find  this  sheep  among  the  mountains, 


128  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

not  lost  nor  forgotten,  but  longing  for  a  token  of  her  SAVIOUR'S 
care. 

When  he  rose  from  his  knees,  she  thanked  him  again,  but  with 
more  visible  emotion  than  before,  said : 

"  Sir,  I  doubt  not  GOD  directed  you  here ;  and  there  is  one  favor 
more  I  have  asked  of  HIM  and  now  ask  through  you.  Three  years 
ago  my  eldest  daughter  died  in  my  arms,  assured  of  rest,  but  leaving 
behind  her  a  babe  not  two  weeks  old.  '  Mother,'  she  said,  just  as  she 
was  dying,  '  I  leave  my  child  with  you  to  bring  her  to  me  in  heaven. 
You  will  do  it  for  CHRIST'S  sake,  and  mine,  and  hers,  mother.  And, 
mother,  HE  has  told  us  to  give  little  children  to  HIM  in  baptism. 
Dear  mother,  promise  that  my  child  shall  be  baptized.'  I  promised, 
and  her  spirit  departed.  Ever  since,  I  have  been  praying  and  waiting 
for  some  minister  to  find  his  way  to  us,  but  in  vain.  More  than  once 
I  heard  of  some  who  had  come  as  far  as  Lake  Pleasant,  but  none 
reached  Piseco,  and  I  almost  feared  that  I  should  die  and  no^  be  able 
to  tell  my  child  in  heaven  that  the  blessed  water  had  been  on  her 
baby's  face.  Yet,  even  in  this,  GOD  has  been  good  to  me.  You  will 
baptize  my  little  one  ?" 

How  gladly  the  chaplain  assented,  may  be  readily  imagined.  The 
child  was  called  in  from  her  play  on  the  grass-plat ;  her  rosy,  wonder 
ing  face  was  gently  washed,  and  her  light  brown  hair  parted  on  her 
forehead,  and  she  stood,  with  her  bare  white  feet,  on  a  low  bench  by 
her  grandmother's  pillow.  The  grandfather  filled  an  antique  silver 
bowl  with  water,  freshly  dipped  from  a  spring  near  the  door.  An 
old  brass-clasped  folio  of  Luther's  Bible  was  laid  open  at  the  family 
record  beside  the  water,  the  chaplain's  broad  hat  on  the  other  side. 
He  thought  not,  and  none  thought  of  his  coarse  gray  coat  or  his  heavy 
boots.  He  was  full  of  his  sacred  office,  and  the  presence  of  the 
INVISIBLE  was  upon  him.  The  feeble  woman,  strengthened  by  love 
and  faith,  raised  herself  higher  on  the  bed  and  put  her  wasted  arm 
over  the  plump  shoulders  of  the  fair,  blue-eyed  child.  The  old  man 
and  his  daughters,  and  the  dull-witted  servant  at  the  kitchen-door, 
reverently  standing,  sobbed  aloud ;  and,  amidst  the  tears  of  all  except 
her  whose  source  of  tears  was  dried  up  for  ever,  the  chaplain  recited 
the  touching  prayer  of  the  Reformed  Churches  before  the  baptism  of 


PISECO.  129 

infants,  and  with  the  name  of  the  departed  mother  breathed  over  her 
orphan,  in  the  name  of  the  FATHER,  and  of  the  SON,  and  of  the 
HOLY  GHOST,  she  was  dedicated  to  GOD  by  water  sprinkled  three 
times  on  her  sweet  grave  face.  The  grandfather  handed  a  pen  to  the 
chaplain,  but  it  was  lightly  pressed  to  trace  the  inscription,  for  the 
page  was  wet  with  the  big  drops  that  fell  from  the  old  man's  eyes. 

Many  moments  elapsed  before  the  thanksgiving  could  be  uttered, 
and  then  the  happy  saint  joyfully  exclaimed : 

"  Bless  you,  Sir !  I  bless  GOD  that  he  has  granted  me  this  grace 
before  I  die.  Now  I  am  ready  to  go  to  my  child  in  heaven." 

"  My  dear  madam,"  answered  the  preacher,  "  it  is,  indeed,  a  blessed 
ordinance ;  but  the  child  of  prayers  for  two  generations  would  not 
have  missed  the  promise  because  of  an  impossibility  on  your  part." 

"  No,  no !  the  spirit  is  better  than  the  form.  She  had  the  promise. 
/  knew  that  she  was  in  the  covenant,  but  I  wanted  her  in  the  fold." 

The  chaplain  entered  his  boat.  Never  did  lake,  and  mountain, 
and  green  shore  look  so  beautiful,  for  they  seemed  all  bathed  with 
holy  light;  and  that  noon,  when,  with  his  friends  reclining  on  the 
sward,  he  told  the  story  of  the  baptism  in  the  wilderness,  their 
moistened  eyes  expressed  their  sympathy  with  his  joy. 

Heaven  opened  for  the  grandmother  a  few  days  afterward.  The 
next  year  her  SAVIOUR  took  up  her  child's  child  in  his  arms,  and  the 
three  were  together  among  the  angels.  The  grandfather  lived  but  a 
short  time.  One  of  the  daughters  having  married  a  farmer,  moved, 
with  her  sister,  down  into  the  open  country,  where  she  also  died  in 
her  young  beauty.  Of  the  two  other  members  of  the  family,  I  have 
heard  nothing  since. 

The  old  stone  house  still  stands  near  the  rushing  inlet,  but  the 
storms  beat  through  its  broken  windows.  Rank  weeds  have  over-run 
the  garden,  and  brambles  hide  the  spring  near  the  kitchen  door.  Yet 
the  path  from  the  landing-place  can  be  followed ;  and  should  any  of 
my  readers  ever  visit  Piseco,  now  more  accessible,  but  charming  as 
ever,  they  can  easily  recognize  the  scene  of  my  story.  It  is  ever  fresh 
and  hallowed  in  my  memory ;  for  there  I  learned,  by'  precious  expe 
rience,  that  the  good  GOD  never  forgets  those  who  trust  in  HIM,  and 
that,  go  where  we  will,  we  may  carry  His  blessing  with  us  to  some 
heart  thirsting  for  His  word.  9 


BY   W.    II.    C.    HOSMEE. 


ALL  of  divine  in  poetry  we  lose 

"When  wayward  Genius  prostitutes  the  muse, 

Lured  by  the  fatal  gleam  of  golden  showers, 

And  aims  to  make  available  his  powers, 

By  pandering  to  vitiated  Taste, 

"While  runs  the  garden  of  his  heart  to  waste. 

DRYDEX  was  ruined  when  he  tuned  his  string 

To  gain  the  guerdon  of  a  heartless  king, 

Amuse  a  gay,  licentious  court  with  lays 

Mocking  at  virtue,  and  indecent  plays. 

Alone  the  mere  available  he  sought, 

At  honor's  price  a  wretched  stipend  bought ; 

The  hill-tops  of  the  Beautiful  forsook, 

On  scenes  of  hollow  revelry  to  look ; 

Bow  at  the  footstool  of  anointed  Sin, 

Less  sure  of  royal  favor  than  NELL  GTVYXX. 

Oh !  what  a  loss  to  letters  when  withdrawn 

From  high,  heroic  theme  was  'glorious  JOHX,' 

Led  by  Komance  to  her  old  haunted  shore, 

Pluming  his  wing  for  epic  flight  no  more ! 

Eternal  praise  is  deathless  MILTOX'S  due, 

To  an  exalted  calling  ever  true ; 

Although  his  books  the  common  hangman  burned 

When,  triumphing,  the  Second  CHARLES  returned, 

Still  his  great  heart  a  love  of  freedom  fired, 

While  Want  and  Woe  to  crush  his  soul  conspired. 


132  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

The  wretched  tool  of  Party  trimmed  his  sail 
To  catch  the  current  of  a  prosperous  gale, 
And  pliant  chiefs,  with  king-craft  long  at  strife, 
On  bended  knees  begged  piteously  for  life ; 
But  one  there  was,  unawed  by  sceptred  Power, 
Firm  as  the  rock-foundation  of  a  tower, 
Whom  threat  could  not  corrupt,  nor  bribe  seduce, 
To  li ve  one  hour  with  Guilt  on  terms  of  truce ; 
Whose  breast,  the  fortress  of  an  iron  will, 
Harbored  a  hatred  of  Oppression  still 
Blind  were  his  orbs,  but,  eloquent,  the  lips 
Gave  proof  of  mind  undarkened  by  eclipse, 
Midsummer-noon  outshining  with  its  rays 
Though  gone  the  bloom  and  bliss  of  younger  days. 
Wit  reaped  the  harvest  of  a  venal  pen 
Selling  his  conscience  for  the  praise  of  men ; 
Apostates  hailed  the  STUART  line  restored, 
Mocking  the  creed  that  edged  a  HAMPDEN'S  sword, 
But  reigning  Fashion  could  not  cramp  with  laws 
An  author  deaf  to  popular  applause, 
Whose  spirit,  bathing  in  celestial  light, 
Conversed  with  shapes  unknown  to  mortal  sight, 
Though  foolish  scribe  and  lying  pamphleteer 
More  gold  amassed  with  each  returning  year. 
Ah !  little  thought  the  dunces  who  maligned 
The  Bard  of  Eden,  old,  infirm,  and  blind, 
That  gladly  reading  thousands  in  our  day, 
More  for  his  careless  autograph  would  pay 
Than  all  the  lumber,  now  of  little  worth, 
To  which  his  scribbling  enemies  gave  birth. 

Out  on  the  coward  who  adapts  his  page 

To  the  base  craving  of  a  selfish  age, 

And  finds  the  silver  in  his  itching  palms 

A  sudden  cure  for  conscientious  qualms ! 

Not  long  from  judgment  can  the  wretch  be  screened 

Whose  soul  is  mortgaged  to  a  torturing  fiend ; 

Remorse  will  follow  misdirected  power 

When  gone  the  clap-trap  of  the  passing  hour : 

Through  mocking  paint  will  soon  or  late  appear 

The  pallid  shade  of  more  than  mortal  fear, 


DEYDEN    AND    MILTON.  138 

And  on  the  wind,  while  hurrying  to  the  goal, 

The  funeral-bell  of  murdered  Hope  will  toll. 

Out  upon  authors  who  conform  in  style 

To  manners  that  are  prevalent  though  vile, 

The  gifts  of  GOD  abusing  for  a  price 

Paid  by  the  gilded  devotees  of  Yice ! 

Their  works  survive  as  beacon-lights  to  warn, 

Not  precious  scrolls  the  language  to  adorn, 

And  when  their  names  offend  the  startled  ear 

"We  feel  as  if  an  adder's  brood  were  near. 

Not  such  the  band,  from  Labor's  field  withdrawn, 

"Whose  lingering  foot-prints  match  in  glow  the  dawn ; 

The  gulf  of  ages  can  not  swallow  up 

These  meek  partakers  of  a  bitter  cup ; 

Their  records  were  not  written  in  the  sand, 

But  treasured  lie  in  Memory's  holy  land.         , 

Despised  of  men,  they  toiled  with  fervent  zeal, 

Through  good  and  ill  report,  for  human  weal ; 

Bravely  the  burthen  of  their  sorrows  bore, 

And  household- words  will  live  for  evermore. 

Their  names,  a  precious  legacy,  impart 

Balm  to  the  pilgrim  growing  faint  of  heart, 

And,  snatching  up  the  staff,  he  journeys  on, 

The  mournful  gloom  that  wrapped  his  spirit  gone. 


otD  Oo^cJL  JU  AW, 


A      LIFE      WITH      ONE      PASSION. 


BY     DONALD     MAC     LKOD. 


EVERY  body  who  knows  Dr.  T ,  in  a  friendly  way,  knows 

that  his  darling  study  is  Psychology ;  and  this  has  always  interested 
me  exceedingly,  as  I  suppose  it  interests  every  artist.  Lately,  in  our 
conversations,  we  have  been  devoted,  he  as  master  and  I  as  scholar, 
to  the  observation  of  characters  formed  by  the  development  of  a  single 
passion,  as  avarice,  ambition,  love,  etc.  His  close,  analytical  mind 
finds  great  pleasure  in  following  and  noting  accurately  the  course  of 
such  a  development,  from  its  first  exterior  manifestation  to  its  result ;" 
and  he  holds  that  when  the  soul  is  once  fairly  delivered  up  to  the 
dominance  of  a  single  passion,  the  principle  of  life  itself  becomes 
involved,  and  that  the  end  of  the  passion  is  only  at  the  end  of  mortal 
existence. 

His  anecdotes,  thoroughly  illustrative  of  his  theory,  are  many  and 
of  absorbing  interest ;  and  I  only  endeavor  to  repeat  one  here  because 
the  general  reader  is  never  likely  to  learn  it  from  him.  At  the 
same  time,  I  am  convinced  of  my  own  incapacity  to  analyze  like  him. 
I  will  tell  one  story,  however,  that  haunted  me  for  a  long  time,  and,  as 
I  am  not  a  physician,  but  only  a  story-teller,  I  shall  tell  it  in  my  own 
way. 

There  is  a  young,  beautiful  woman,  sitting  among  pillows  and 
cushions  in  an  arm-chair,  by  an  open  window.  The  still  atmosphere 
is  heavy  with  the  scent  of  tube-roses,  jessamines,  heliotropes,  and 
other  flowers  of  like  powerful  odor,  which  have  always  been  her 


136  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

favorites.  Filled  as  the  air  is  with  these  rich  fragrances,  she  adds 
to  them  that  of  pastiles,  burning  on  the  chimney-piece,  and  her  hand 
kerchief  is  wet  with  extracts  of  violets.  Her  skin  is  white,  but  not 
transparent ;  it  reminds  you  most  of  cream-laid  note  paper.  The  eyes 
are  lazy,  full,  and  the  color  of  the  double  English  violets.  The  hair 
is  blond,  an  ashy  blond,  and  has  scarcely  a  wave  in  it ;  it  could  not  be 
made  to  curl,  but  lies  in  rich,  heavy,  almost  damp  bands,  about  the 
face.  Her  form,  though  delicate,  is  thoroughly  developed ;  the  flesh 
firm,  the  outlines  as  if  chiseled,  growing  thin  now,  except  the  throat 
and  bust,  and  the  hands  and  feet,  which  are  very  small,  but  rounded 
and  plump,  with  dimples  at  the  joints.  She  wears  a  pale  blue  silk 
robe  de  chambre,  opening  in  front  to  show  an  under-dress  of  white 
watered  silk.  On  the  table  beside  her  is  a  bottle  and  glass  of  heavy, 
rich  Portugal  wine,  pure  juice,  which  leaves  a  spoonful  of  sediment  in 
every  glass. 

Except  to  taste  this,  or  to  inhale  the  odors,  as  the  light  air  throws 
them  occasionally  through  the  window,  or  to  respire  the  violet  from 
the  handkerchief,  she  seldom  raises  her  head  from  w^here  it  reclines, 
thrown  back  upon  the  cushions,  in  which  position  she  looks  passion 
ately  and  dreamily  at  her  husband's  portrait,  which  hangs  upon  the 
wall  before  her. 

The  portrait  exhibits  a  man  of  twenty-six  or  seven,  somewhat 
sallow,  thin,  with  heavy,  wavy,  chestnut  hair,  and  large  brown  eyes, 
not  without  some  fierceness  in  them.  There  is  nothing  remarkable 
about  the  face  except  the  intense  redness  of  the  lips  —  the  lady  has 
that  also  —  so  red  that  you  fancy  the  painter  a  bad  chooser  of  colors ; 
yet  they  say  the  likeness  is  perfect. 

These  are  all  the  accessories  which  need  be  mentioned.  Let  the 
lady  tell  her  own  story : 

MY  father  died  before  my  birth ;  my  mother  perished  in  bringing 
me,  her  only  child,  into  the  world.  They  left  me  a  large  fortune,  and 
my  guardians  were  well-bred,  very  ordinary,  every-day,  well-to-do 
people. 

The  first  thing  I  ever  loved,  except  strong  perfumes  and  flowers, 
was  a  bird,  an  English  bulfinch,  which  seemed  to  be  very  fond  of 


AXTEROS.  137 

me,  until  one  day,  when  I  was  about  twelve  or  thirteen,  it  flew  to  a 
young  girl  who  was  visiting  me,  and  refused  to  come  back  when  I 
called  it.  When  it  did  come,  at  last,  I  killed  it  in  my  hand. 

I  remember  my  nurse  very  well,  and  a  pretty  French  maid  who 
attended  me  afterward ;  but  I  do  n't  think  I  cared  much  about  either. 

I  do  n't  think  that  I  loved  any  thing  much  except  the  bird  that  I 
crushed  in  my  hand ;  at  least,  until  I  got  to  be  eighteen. 

I  was,  of  course,  as  is  the  case  generally  in  New- York,  taken  into 
society  quite  young — at  sixteen,  I  think — and  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  it. 
I  was  rich,  and  I  may  say  it  now,  beautiful,  so  that  I  did  not  lack 
suitors  who  professed  the  profoundest  devotion  for  me.  Some  of 
them  were  pleasant,  one  or  two  handsome  and  fascinating  men,  and  I 
often  wondered  at  the  existence  of  my  utter  indifference  for  them  all. 
By-and-by  I  won  the  reputation  of  a  cold,  unaifectionate  girl,  and  those 
who  were  really  worthy  began  to  leave  me  to  myself,  and  none 
remained  but  those  who  thought  only  of  my  fortune.  Cold  and 
unaffectionate !  Ah !  if  they  could  have  seen  the  ceaseless  agonies  of 
tears  into  which  I  burst  in  my  own  room ;  if  they  could  have  seen 
my  arms  trying  to  wind  themselves  round  my  own  body,  or  felt  the 
thrills  and  yearnings  of  the  unknown  passion  that  convulsed  me  with 
its  power,  that  was  consuming  my  heart ! 

There  was  a  large  party  given  on  my  eighteenth  birth-day,  and  it 
took  its  usual  course.  I  have  forgotten  all  about  it  until,  about  the 
middle  of  it,  I  saw  a  young  man  standing  in  a  corner  looking  at  me. 
As  I  met  his  look  an  indescribable  thrill  passed  through  me,  and  I  felt 
faint  for  a  moment.  My  impulse  was  to  rise  and  clasp  him  in  my 
arms.  He  haunted  me  and  frightened  me,  yet  I  felt  a  strange  desire 
to  get  near  him.  When  he  came,  at  last,  introduced  by  my  guardian 
us  Mr.  Mark  Winston,  I  had  scarcely  strength  or  self-possession  to 
bow.  He  asked  me  to  dance  and  I  refused,  I  know  not  why ;  I  never 
cared  for  that  amusement,  yet  I  had  never  refused  any  one  before. 
Then  he  sat  down  and  talked  to  me  a  little  while,  but  the  shrinking 
still  remained,  and  I  answered  I  know  not  how  or  what.  But  he 
dropped  a  glove  beside  me,  and  when  he  had  gone,  I  picked  it  up, 
and  put  it  into  my  bosom ;  and  when  I  was  alone,  I  knew  that  I  loved 
him,  and  that  that  love  was  my  life. 


138  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Mark  Winston  was  a  Carolinian,  and  had  brought  no  letters  to  the 
North,  except  to  my  guardian,  so  that  our  house  was  almost  his  only 
visiting-place.  There  was  a  pleasant,  lively  girl,  niece  to  my  guar 
dian,  staying  with  us  then,  and  our  party  commonly  consisted  of  the 
old  people,  Mark,  Mary  Lee,  and  myself.  The  spring  came  on  and 
passed  away,  and  in  the  latter  part  of  it,  we  went  to  a  country-seat  at 
New-Rochelle. 

Every  hour  my  passion  grew  stronger ;  every  hour  it  destroyed 
some  minor  characteristic  of  my  nature,  and  advanced  toward  its 
end,  the  absorption  of  all  my  nature  into  itself.  Still  I  shunned  him. 
inexplicably  to  myself;  I  craved  to  be  near  him,  to  hear  him,  to 
watch  him,  to  touch  him  with  my  dress  in  passing;  but  when  he 
came  to  me,  a  positive  fear  would  take  hold  on  me,  and  I  would  feel 
almost  ill.  I  stole  from  him ;  stole  his  gloves,  his  handkerchief;  I 
would  have  done  any  act  of  meanness ;  I  have  picked  the  pockets  of 
his  coat  when  it  hung  in  the  hall.  Once,  noticing  that  the  ribbon  of 
his  watch  was  worn  out,  Mary  Lee  gave  him  another,  which  he  put 
on ;  and  in  doing  so,  he  broke  the  crystal  of  his  watch,  and  carried  it 
up  to  his  room.  But  for  this,  I  would  have  fainted,  or  else  sprung 
upon  her ;  but  this  gave  me  a  gleam  of  light.  When  he  returned  to 
the  drawing-room,  I  went  up  stairs,  procured  another  ribbon,  and 
went  into  his  room.  I  took  her  ribbon  and  tore  it  to  pieces  with  my 
hands  and  teeth,  and  carried  it  out  and  stamped  it  into  the  black  soil 
of  the  garden;  but  that  which  he  had  worn  I  had  already  in  my 
bosom,  and  I  treasured  that  an<J  the  gloves  and  the  handkerchief,  and 
whatever  else  of  him  I  had,  and  kissed  them,  and  sat  looking  at  them 
in  my  lap,  and  slept  with  them  in  my  bosom  through  the  long  nights. 
Yet  for  all  this  I  could  get  no  nearer  to  him. 

At  last  I  thought  that  he  began  to  pay  his  addresses  to  Mary  Lee, 
and  then  I  recognized  that  love  had  not  eaten  up  all  my  nature,  for 
hate  and  rage  still  existed.  Oh !  what  weary,  weary  weeks  I  spent 
in  watching  them !  How  softly  I  crawled  down  stairs  !  How  stealth 
ily  I  stole  behind  them  in  their  walks !  How  I  watched  them  con 
versing  in  the  drawing-room. 

On  Thursday,  the  seventh  of  June  —  I  had  bought  an  almanac, 
and  1  used  to  mark  the  days  on  which  1  saw  him  —  on  Thursday,  the 


AXTEROS.  139 

seventh  of  June,  I  saw  him  come  up  the  avenue,  and  heard  him  enter 
the  house.  He  did  not  mount  the  stairs,  but  passed  into  the  draw 
ing-room,  and  I  knew  that  Mary  Lee  was  there  alone.  I  .went  to  my 
dressing-table,  and  swallowed  from  a  flagon  a  glass  of  Cologne-water. 
Then,  when  the  shudder  and  tremor  had  passed  over,  I  went  gently 
down,  and  saw  the  door  half  open.  The  door  was  in  the  middle  of 
the  room;  when  partially  open,  you  saw  a  huge  mirror,  which 
reflected  every  thing  in  the  room :  they  sat  behind  it.  Half-way 
down  the  stairs,  I  heard  his  voice,  soft,  low,  pleading,  tender :  GOD  ! 
how  long  had  this  been  going  on  ]  My  satin  slippers  made  no  noise, 
and  I  reached  the  half-open  door  and  saw  them  in  the  glass ;  he  with 
her  hand  in  his ;  I  watched  them  there  for  a  thousand  centuries ;  and 
I  heard  him  say,  "  Do,  dear  Mary ;  do  promise  for  to-morrow ;"  and 
I  heard  her  answer,  in  a  timid,  gentle  voice,  which  seemed  to  me  full 
of  love,  "No,  Mark,  I  dare  not," 

Again  he  plead  to  her,  and  then  —  my  eyes  upon  the  mirror  — 
then  he  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  I  saw  him  do  it. 

I  struck  the  door  open  —  my  hand  was  black  for  two  weeks  — 
and  went  in  to  where  he  still  held  her  hand,  and  stood  before  them, 
and  struck  my  foot  upon  the  ground. 

Mary  Lee  ran  out  of  the  room. 

"So,"  I  said  to  Mark  Winston,  "you  come  here  for  that,  do 
your 

He  looked  at  me  amazedly. 

"You  even  must  be  base  and  dishonorable,  you  even  can  not 
respect  the  sanctity  of  a  friend's  house ;  and  you  call  yourself  gentle 
man." 

He  grew  white,  a  kind  of  ashy  white ;  and  his  eyes  grew  three 
shades  darker,  and  burnt  like  living  coals  with  ;rage.  I  feared  him 
not,  and  said : 

"And  to  love  a  thing  like  Mary  Lee !" 

Then  the  fierceness  passed  instantly  from  his  eyes ;  and  a  flood  of 
unutterable  passion  flowed  —  I  saw  it  flow  —  into  them,  and  he  said : 

"  I  was  begging  her  to  intercede  with  you,  Louise,  I  never  loved 
any  but  you.  But  you  are  so  cold,  so  unaffectionate,  so  incapable  of 
loving,  so " 


140  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

I  sank  down  upon  the  floor,  and  clasped  his  knees,  and  said, 
"  Mark,  I  love  you,  and  have  loved  you,  and  will  love  you  to  eter 
nity." 

I  remember  my  sitting  upon  his  knees,  with  his  strong  arms,  like 
mighty  cords,  binding  my  bosom  upon  his.  And  then  came  that  wild 
rain  of  kisses,  of  consuming,  devouring  kisses,  on  my  hair  and  eyes 
and  forehead,  and  quicker  and  faster  on  my  lips  and  neck.  I  fainted 
in  his  arms,  on  his  convulsed  bosom  and  impassioned,  throbbing 
heart.  At  least  I  suppose  I  fainted,  for  I  remember  nothing  until  I 
found  myself  upon  a  sofa,  with  Mark  kneeling  at  my  feet,  holding  my 
hands  in  his,  and  his  tears  raining  hotly  upon  them,  faster  and  hotter 
than  his  kisses. 

We  were  married  on  the  fifteenth  of  September,  and  went  to  our 
home  immediately  —  a  nice  country-house  on  the  north  shore  of 
Long-Island  —  that  was  our  home. 

I  do  n't  remember  that  we  ever  read,  or  drew,  or  had  any  music, 
or  any  thing  else  of  that  kind.  I  remember  the  walks  in  the  forest  or 
on  the  shore,  and  the  flowers  that  he  was  fond  of,  and  the  perfumes 
he  liked  best,  and  the  love  that  both  of  us  had  for  the  heavy  lamp 
shades,  ground  simply  and  lined  with  rose-colored  tissue  paper. 

I  remember  that  I  never  before  had  taken  particular  care  of  my 
person,  except  what  is  natural  to  any  gentlewoman,  but  that  now  I 
bathed  twice  every  day,  and  studied  every  toilette,  chiefly  the  morn 
ing  and  the  night-dress,  and  used  no  perfume  but  tube-rose,  helio 
trope,  and  violet,  wrhich  were  his  favorites,  and  lived  as  in  a  dream  — 
a  long,  may-be  a  bad,  wicked,  cruel,  passionate  dream. 

All  that  I  know  is,  that  I  was  separated  from  him,  and  the  physi 
cians  said  he  was  going  to  die ;  and  wrhen  I  asked  to  see  him,  they 
said,  "  No ;  any  body  but  you."  He  grew  worse  and  worse. 

They  had  forbidden  me  to  go  near  him.  My  presence  alone,  they 
said,  was  injurious  to  him.  They  would  not  answer  for  his  life,  if  I 
were  to  insist  on  seeing  him.  So  I  kept  away  in  my  own  chamber 
while  people  were  stirring  in  the  house ;  but,  in  the  early  morning, 
when  all  was  still,  I  used  to  creep  to  the  door  of  his  room,  and  crouch 
down  there  and  think  of  him. 

By-and-by  this  became  unendurable,  and   I  began  to   question 


ANTEROS.  141 

whether  that  cold-browed,  scientific,  quiet  man  had  a  right  to  keep  a 
wife  from  her  husband.  I  had  heard  so  often,  that,  for  a  point  of 
medical  interest,  any  point  new  or  curious  in  their  science,  they 
would  not  hesitate  to  destroy  fifty  lives  to  procure  an  elucidation,  I 
determined  at  least  to  see.  So  I  questioned  Mark's  nurse. 

"  Does  he  suffer  much,  nurse  ?" 

"  No,  Ma'am ;  or,  at  least,  he  makes  no  complaint.  Only  just  lies 
there,  still  and  dreaming-like,  and  putting  out  his  arms,  and  then  fold 
ing  them  back  round  him  again." 

"  Is  he  out  of  his  mind  at  all  1" 

"  GOD  bless  you !  no.  His  eyes  have  no  sparkle  in  them,  and  his 
voice  is  as  little  as  a  child's,  only  deeper,  like  the  church-organ,  you 
know,  Ma'am,  before  they  come  to  the  loud  part." 

"  But  does  he  forget  all  his  friends  f ' 

"He  never  speaks  about  them,  Ma'am,  although  the  doctor  is 
always  a-mentioning  them  to  him ;  but  while  they  talk  about  them,  he 
just  lies  there." 

"About  whom,  then,  does  he  talk1?" 

"O  Ma'am,  he  hardly  talks  at  all;  only  lies  still,  except  his 
arms,  and  looks  always  like  he  was  thinking  of  somewhat ;  and  when 
he  does  speak,  he  never  says  but  just  only,  '  Louise,  Louise.'  " 

"  Does  he  say  '  Louise  V     That  is  my  name."     t 

"  Why,  bless  you,  Ma'am,  he  never  speaks  nor  thinks  of  any  body 
but  you.  He  calls  always  for  you,  and  then,  after  he  calls  awhile,  he 
seems  to  think  as  you  have  come,  and  he  folds  his  arms  in  so  — " 
here  the  nurse  imitated  the  motion;  "  not  folding  them  up  as  the  gen 
tlemen  do,  but  kind  of  looking  as  if  he  were  folding  something  else 
up  into  them ;  and  then  he  keeps  a-saying  '  Louise,  Louise,'  in  a  little, 
low,  soft  voice,  and  by-and-by  he  falls  asleep." 

A  new  idea  flashed  upon  me.     Said  I : 

"  Nurse,  dear,  they,  the  doctors,  won't  allow  me  to  see  him ;  are 
they  cross  with  you  1  Let  me  see :  how  long  have  you  been  watching 
him?" 

"  Three  nights  now,  Ma'am,  on  a  stretch ;  but  if  I  was  ever  so 
tired,  Ma'am,  I  could  n't  let  you  go  in." 


142  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  Oh !  yes,  I  know  that ;  but  I  want  him  well  watched,  and  I  am 
afraid  that  they  don't  take  care  of  you." 

"  Oh !  yes,  Ma'am,  I  get  plenty  to  eat,  but,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
Ma'am,  I  have  always  been  used  to  a  little  drop  of  wine,  and  I  haven't 
had  none." 

"  Well,  nurse,  I  will  bring  you  some  into  the  little  dining-room, 
and  will  call  you  when  he  gets  asleep.  Now  go  in  and  watch  him." 

She  went  into  Mark's  room,  and  I  went  to  the  sideboard,  where  I 
found  several  decanters  full.  I  chose  a  small  one,  in  order  that  she 
might  drink  it  all.  But  first,  I  took  it  up  to  my  own  room,  and  put 
some  laudanum  in  it ;  and  then  I  got  some  dry  biscuit  and  anchovy 
sauce  to  increase  her  thirst,  and  took  it  into  the  little  dining-room. 

It  was  nearly  eleven  then,  and  I  undressed  myself,  but  did  not  go 
to  bed.  I  thought  constantly  of  Mark,  and  I  put  on  the  pale-blue 
dressing-gown,  in  which  he  used  to  admire  me,  and  I  let  the  bands  of 
my  hair,  which  were  very  thick  and  heavy,  fall  down  about  my  neck ; 
and  then  I  sat  down  before  the  clock,  and  thought  about  him  and  of 
the  day  when  he  first  told  me  how  he  loved  me,  and  of  the  day  on 
which  we  were  married. 

When  the  clock  struck  one,  I  went  down,  peeped  in,  and  saw  the 
nurse  moving  about  the  chimney-piece.  Then  I  went  back  to  my 
room,  sat  down,  and  thought  of  Mark  until  two.  Then  I  went  down 
again,  and,  as  I  slightly  opened  Mark's  door,  I  saw  the  nurse  dozing 
in  her  arm-chair.  I  could  not  see  Mark,  for  the  door,  half-opened, 
only  showed  the  foot  of  his  bed ;  but  I  heard  him  move  and  say 
"  Louise ;"  and  I  shivered  as  I  heard  him.  Meantime  his  movement 
or  mine  awakened  the  nurse,  and  she  saw  me. 

I  beckoned  to  her,  and,  after  a  glance  at  her  charge,  she  came  out. 
I  saw  that  she  was  cold,  for  they  allowed  no  fire  in  Mark's  room ;  and 
I  took  her  to  the  little  dining-room,  where  a  grate-full  of  coals  was 
blazing,  and  made  her  take  an  arm-chair  near  the  fire.  Then  I  began 
to  talk  to  her ;  but  I  made  my  remarks  at  long  intervals,  so  that, 
after  a  few  moments,  she  fell  back  upon  the  cushions,  and  slept. 

When  I  was  assured  of  her  slumber,  I  rose,  and,  woman  that  I  am, 
walked  to  the  mirror.  I  saw  that  I  was  pale,  and  wondered  what  he 
would  think  of  me.  Then  I  went  into  his  room,  and  stood  beside 


ANTEROS.  143 

him.  I  had  never  before  thought  him  handsome,  but  the  pallor  of  his 
skin  made  his  eyes  dark  and  full  of  languor ;  the  moisture  upon  his 
hair  gave  it  a  gloss  which  it  never  had  worn  in  health,  and  his  lips 
were  full  and  crimson.  To  me,  at  that  moment,  he  looked  surpass 
ingly  beautiful. 

He  saw  me  at  once,  and  after  we  had  gazed  at  each  other  for  a, 
few  moments,  he  put  out  his  arms  and  said,  "  Louise,  Louise ;"  and  I 
sank  down  into  his  arms. 

The  lights  in  the  room  had  burned  out,  and  the  first  gray  tints  of 
morning  began  to  appear,  when  I  felt  a  fearful  shudder  pass  over 
Mark's  form,  and  he  writhed  himself  free  from  my  embrace.  Then 
he  asked  hoarsely  for  water. 

I  sprang  up,  gave  him  a  drink,  and  then  stood  at  his  bedside. 

His  eyes  were  on  fire ;  his  cheeks  were  covered  with  a  burning 
flush,  and  his  hands  trembled  as  he  used  them  in  gesticulation. 

"  Louise,"  he  said,  "  I  am  dying." 

Then  an  indefinable  terror  seized  me,  and  I  crouched  down  beside 
the  bed,  but  my  eyes  were  fascinatedly  fixed  upon  his. 

"  Louise,  they  told  me,  the  doctors  told  me,  that  you  were  my 
death ;  they  told  me  that  your  love  had  killed  me ;  and  they  wanted 
me  to  quit  you,  Louise." 

He  put  out  his  arms  toward  me,  but  I  shrank  from  him  with  my 
blood  curdled. 

"  Louise,  I  mocked  at  them.  I  said  you  could  not  kill  me,  for  you 
had  my  life  and  soul  in  you  as  well  as  your  own.  GOD  !  what  a 
pain!" 

His  form  was  thrown  up  from  the  bed  in  his  agony,  and  then  fell 
down  again. 

"  Mark,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  darling  ?" 

"  Did  you  speak,  Louise  ?"  he  said  with  a  wild  stare.  "  I  saw 
your  lips  move,  but  only  heard  your  low,  sweet  voice  saying,  '  Mark, 
Mark,  I  love  you.'  I  hear  it  always.  I  feel  your  breath  upon  my 
lips  now.  Come  here,  Louise.  Quick !" 

I  bent  toward  him.  His  arms  caught  me  in  a  fierce  embrace, 
and  so  he  held  me  as  if  he  would  have  pressed  my  very  life  into  his 
bosom,  and  he  fastened  his  red  lips  on  mine. 


144  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

And  there,  in  that  clasp,  the  fires  faded  from  his  eyes,  and  his  lips 
froze  there  upon  mine. 


I  CARE  not  for  what  the  doctors  tell  me.     Mark  is  dead,  and  I  am 
dying  also ;  but  slowly,  too  slowly ! 


P.   Sop  ex. 


I'm 


BY    JOHN    G.    S4.XE. 


MY  days  pass  pleasantly  away, 

My  nights  are  blest  with  sweetest  sleep, 
I  feel  no  symptoms  of  decay, 

I  have  no  cause  to  mourn  nor  weep. 
My  foes  are  impotent  and  shy, 

My  friends  are  neither  false  nor  cold : 
And  yet,  of  late,  I  often  sigh, 

I  'm  growing  old ! 

My  growing  talk  of  olden  times, 
My  growing  thirst  for  early  news, 

My  growing  apathy  to  rhymes, 
My  growing  love  of  easy  shoes, 

My  growing  hata  of  crowds  and  noise, 
My  growing  fear  of  taking  cold, 

All  whisper  in  the  plainest  voice, 
I  'm  growing  old  .' 

I  'm  growing  fonder  of  my  staff, 

I  'm  growing  dimmer  in  the  eyes, 
I  'm  growing  fainter  in  my  laugh, 

I  'm  growing  deeper  in  my  sighs, 
I  'm  growing  careless  of  my  dress, 
I  'm  growing  frugal  of  my  gold, 
I  'm  growing  wise.  I  'm  growing — yes  — 

I  'm  growing  old ! 
10 


/ 


3e  the 
t."    It 

its  of 
;o  the 
[e  had 
elbow 
3lf  its 
v  that 
doors 
on  a 
The 
s,  are 
ear  a 
gress 

nges, 
;  will 
what 
They 
front 
vers, 
;hted 

witn  gas.  *••••••••••••••»•• 

Perhaps  no  era  in  American  history  has  been  more  fruitful  in  the 

birth  of  what  aT  o  destined  to  become  genuine  cities,  or  so  prolific  in 


in  %  "$n  WtaL" 


BY      EALPII       ROAXOKE 


IN  1820,  Missouri  was  the  "far  West,"  and  Independence  the 
boundary  of  civilization.  Now,  in  1854,  there  is  no  "  far  West."  It 
has  been  crowded  overboard  into  the  Pacific  Ocean. 

Formerly,  the  hardy  pioneer,  impatient  of  the  restraints  of 
society,  and  fired  with  the  spirit  of  adventure,  plunged  into  the 
wilds  of  the  West  in  search  of  happiness  on  his  own  hook.  He  had 
no  fear  of  a  civilization  which  was  travelling  at  a  snail's  pace  to  elbow 
him  out  of  his  quiet  home ;  neither  did  he  recognize  in  himself  its 
champion,  bearing  the  standard  of  empire  westward.  But  now  that 
rampant  spirit  of  go-ahead-ativeness  which  is  knocking  at  the  doors 
of  Congress  for  an  appropriation  to  have  our  gold-diggers  rode  on  a 
rail  is  daily  gaining  strength,  and  will  soon  make  itself  heard.  The 
settlements  which,  under  the  present  hot  haste  to  make  fortunes,  are 
to  spring  up  and  bridge  over  our  vast  western  domain  will  wear  a 
new  and  widely  different  aspect.  Pioneer  life  and  pioneer  progress 
must  soon  pass  away  for  ever,  to  be  remembered  only  in  story. 

If  the  traveller  of  the  present  day  takes  no  note  of  the  changes, 
leaves  no  foot-prints  upon  the  sands  of  time,  future  generations  will 
utterly  fail  to  appreciate  from  what  beginnings  and  under  what 
auspices  the  great  western  cities  have  sprung  into  existence.  They 
may  even  imagine  that,  like  Minerva,  they  sprang  from  the  front 
of  those  grand  prairies,  and  from  the  banks  of  those  mighty  rivers, 
ready  paved  with  cubical  blocks  of  granite  and  brilliantly  lighted 
with  gas. 

Perhaps  no  era  in  American  history  has  been  more  fruitful  in  the 
birth  of  what  a~  o  destined  to  become  genuine  cities,  or  so  prolific  in 


148  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERT. 

spurious  abortions,  as  that  period  of  which,  as  Captain  Cuttle  would 
say,  I  am  about  "  to  make  a  note."     In  the  year  1837  the  spirit 
of  speculation  in  "  town  sites  "  along  the  banks  of  the  western  rivers, 
and  in  the  large  prairies  of  Illinois  and  Missouri  was  running  riot 
throughout   the   United   States.      Golden    harvests    of   profit  were 
mathematically  demonstrated  on  well-drawn  and  highly-colored  maps, 
and   enticingly  offered   to   those  who  wanted   to   turn  a  quick  and 
safe  penny.     Cautious  and  plodding  citizens  were  tempted  out  of 
their  ordinary  occupations  and  six  per  cent  investments  into  the 
whirlpool  of  chance.     Even  worthy  pastors  were  known  to  dabble  in 
"town  sites,"  doubtless  with  the  hope  of  eking  out  their  scanty 
salaries  by  a  large  advance  upon  a  small  investment.     The  East  was 
in  a  state  of  fermentation,  and  the  West  was  teeming  with  land 
speculators,  plotting  and  counterplotting  to  establish  eligible  locali 
ties.     Well  would  it  have  been  for  many  who  ventured  into  such 
speculations  had  they  been  blessed  with  bumps  of  caution  sufficiently 
large  to  suggest  the  propriety  of  a  personal  visit  to  that  land  of  milk 
and  honey.     For  seldom,  if  ever,  has  there  been  a  more  nefarious 
scheme  set  on  foot  to  rob  the  credulous  and  unwary  of  their  hard 
earnings  than  the  sale  of  town  lots  in  embryo  cities,  made  attractive 
on  well-painted  plots.     Often  must  the  traveller  on  those  western 
rivers   sigh   over   the   many   disappointed   hopes   indicated   by  the 
skeleton  frames  of  houses  imported  from  the  East,  dropped  here  and 
there  on  " corner  lots"  and  left  deserted  in  their  glory  to  commemo 
rate  the  folly  of  their  deeply-deceived  owners. 

A  sadder  picture  could  scarcely  be  imagined  than  one  of  those 
"  town  sites,"  in  the  centre  of  which  might  be  seen  a  miserable  hut, 
giving  the  only  presumptive  evidence  that  a  human  being  had  ever 
dwelt  there.  Looking  deeper  into  the  middle-ground  in  search  of  him 
who  called  it  home,  anxious  to  find  whether  he  was  an  object  of  pity, 
as  all  around  indicated,  the  weary  eye  finally  rested  upon  a  few  over 
grown  mounds  and  a  freshly-made  grave,  the  silent  yet  speaking  in 
terpreters  of  the  landscape.  The  damp  chills  of  the  night  and  the 
poisonous  miasma  of  the  swamps  had  engendered  fevers,  and  life, 
unaided  by  comforts  and  unsupported  by  sympathy,  had  yielded  its 
spirit  a  victim  to  misplaced  confidence. 


RAMBLES  IN  THE  FAR  WEST.  149 

In  imagination  I  could  perceive  these  squatter  ghosts  waiting  in 
solemn  silence  for  the  darkness  of  night  to  assemble  together  to  howl 
away  its  gloom  in  deep  lamentations  over  the  loss  of  their  money ; 
or,  like  a  tribe  of  witches,  to  stir  up  their  boiling  cauldron  with  dire 
ful  incantations,  ever  and  anon  sending  forth  horrific  nightmares  to 
drive  away  sweet  and  balmy  slumber  from  the  eyelids  of  the  "  land 
speculators"  who  had  seduced  them  from  their  peaceful  and  happy 
homes  in  the  East,  to  try  their  fortunes  in  the  West. 

It  was  during  the  height  of  this  town-making  mania  that  I  chanced 
to  be  making  a  tour  throughout  the  West.  To  one  who  is  fond  of 
the  study  of  humanity  in  all  its  various  phases,  such  an  era  and  such 
a  field  of  observation  affords  an  infinite  variety  of  amusement  and 
instruction.  I  not  only  obtained  an  insight  into  pioneer  life,  and  the 
modus  operandi  of  land-speculators,  but  also  had  the  rare  good  for 
tune  to  make  the  discovery  that  a  weasel  can  be  caught  asleep. 

But  while  I  enter  my  protest  against  that  nefarious  scheme  of 
town-making,  I  most  cheerfully  give  my  testimony  in  favor  of  the 
local  advantages  and  flourishing  prospects  of  the  town  of  Glasgow,  in 
the  State  of  Missouri.  I  came  in  sight  of  this  embryo  city  just  as 
the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  illuminating  the  slope  of  the  hill 
on  which  it  is  located.  Although  but  three  months  old,  it  had  its 
tavern,  its  store,  its  blacksmith-shop,  and  many  other  signs  of  pros 
perity.  Onward  was  written  on  its  first  page ;  and  to  sum  up  my 
impressions  in  a  sentence,  I  mentally  admitted  it  must  flourish. 

I  have  said  Glasgow  had  its  house  of  entertainment.  This  was 
true.  But  it  was  not  to  be  recognized  by  any  of  those  outward  signs 
which  ordinarily  hang  dangling  before  the  door,  doling  out  some 
favorite  ditty  of  the  passing  breeze.  Looking  around  me  as  I  entered 
the  town  by  the  main  road,  and  riding  into  the  centre  of  an  open 
square  which  was  marked  out  by  the  houses  on  the  four  corners,  I 
saluted  a  good-natured,  broad-mouthed,  honest-looking  old  darkie  with 

"  How  dy,  uncle  :  is  this  the  town  of  Glasgow  ?" 
"  Yes,  Massa,  dis  am  he." 
"  Thank  you,  uncle  ;  which  is  the  best  hotel  ?" 
"Yah !  yah !  yah  !  what  dat  you  say,  Massa  ?    Which  am  de  best 
hotel  1" 


150  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  Yes,  where  would  you  recommend  me  to  stop  ?" 
"  Why,  see  here,  Massa,  just  take  a  correspontal  view  of  dem 
primsis,  and  den  ax  dis  niggar  which  am  de  best  hotel  1     We  do  n't 
got  no  hotel  in  dis  town.     You  call  dat  house  a  hotel !     Yah !  yah  ! 
yah!" 

"  Well,  but  uncle,  you  do  n't  mean  to  say  you  have  no  hotel  ?" 
"Yes,  I  does  mean  to  make  dat  statement  for  a  solemn  fac'. 
Massa,  do  you  tink  I  do  n't  know  what  am  a  hotel  ?  I  do  n't  come 
from  old  Ferginy  for  nothin'.  White  folks  can  't  fool  dis  child. 
Whar  's  de  Gen'l  Washington  ?  Whar  's  de  Gen'l  Jackson  ?  Talk 
about  a  hotel  whar  you  do  n't  see  none  ob  dem  great  gemmen  hangin' 
up  fore  de  door !" 

I  soon  discovered  that  my  old  colored  friend  was  somewhat  face 
tious,  and  prided  himself  upon  once  having  lived  in  Old  Virginia, 
where  the  "  Mansion  House"  was  honored  by  the  "  Father  of  his 
Country,"  or  the  "  Hero  of  New-Orleans"  to  watch  over  it  in  all  kinds 
of  weather.  Returning  to  the  charge  with, 

"  Well,  uncle,  I  see  you  were  not  brought  up  among  '  poor  white 
folks,'  so  here  is  a  picayune  for  you  to  drink  the  health  of 

'OLD  Virginia  never  tire 
Eat  parch  corn  and  lie  by  the  fire.' 

Now  tell  me  where  can  I  get  accommodations  for  the  night  ?" 

Unluckily  for  me,  this  last  speech  touched  a  chord  deep  down  in 
the  old  man's  heart,  and  instead  of  giving  me  an  answer,  his  memory 
was  wandering  back  to  happier  days.  He  seemed  determined  to 
overwhelm  me  with  questions  in  turn. 

"  O  lossey  Massa,  I  'aint  hearn  dem  delishus  words  since  dese 
twenty  years.  Oh !  where  did  you  come  from  ?  Did  you  ever  see 
my  boy,  Jim  Sampson  1  O  Jim  !  Jim !  you  could  wait  on  de 
gemmen !  You  could  make  de  boots  shine  like  two  puter  dollars 
stuck  in  a  mud-hole !  O  Jim !  if  de  old  man  could  just  see  him 
once  more  'fore  he  dies  ! 

I  was  loth  to  break  the  old  man's  soliloquy.  It  was  so  natural, 
unaffected,  deep,  and  touching  —  and,  alas!  what  a  comment  upon 


RAMBLES  IN  THE  FAR  WEST.  151 

the  human  affections !  But  it  was  now  night ;  and  cold,  and  hungry,  I 
could  not  wait  for  his  assistance.  I  therefore  rode  up  to  a  house  on 
the  brow  of  the  hill  and  inquired  of  a  woman  standing  at  the  door  : 

"  Madam,  will  you  please  direct  me  to  a  house  of  entertain 
ment  ?" 

" We  take  in  strangers"  was  her  ominous  reply. 

"  Thanks,  madam,  thanks !  I  am  very  tired  and  hungry,  and 
would  like  an  early  supper." 

I  soon  dismounted  and  took  the  first  opportunity  to  survey  the 
premises.  It  was  a  log  cabin,  built  two  stories  high,  with  but  two 
rooms,  one  above  and  one  below.  It  stood  on  the  slope  of  the  hill, 
with  the  lower  side  to  the  street.  On  the  upper  side  was  a  small 
addition,  made  by  driving  four  posts  in  the  ground  and  fastening 
thereto,  by  means  of  wooden  pins,  huge  slabs  of  boards  sawed  out 
from  butts  of  trees,  and  placed  at  such  a  distance  apart  as  to  admit 
air  and  light.  This  addition  was  the  great  convenience  of  the  pre 
mises.  It  served  for  kitchen,  smoke-house,  larder,  pantry,  wash- 
house  ;  in  fact  for  every  thing  but  the  entertainment  of  strangers. 
The  first  floor  of  the  main  building  was  filled  quite  full  of  chairs, 
tables,  and  cupboards,  in  which  the  nicely-wiped  crockery  was  taste 
fully  displayed.  In  one  corner  of  the  room  was  a  bed,  which,  from 
its  cozy,  home  look,  I  took  to  be  the  resting-place  of  the  master  and 
mistress  of  the  premises.  The  darkness  of  the  room  prevented  my 
making  any  further  observations  as  to  the  upper  story,  except  to  see 
that  those  bound  upward  had  to  climb  a  small,  narrow,  rickety 
ladder  that  stood  in  one  corner. 

There  was  nothing  peculiar  about  the  host  and  hostess  except  a 
glaring  disparity  in  their  ages,  the  lady  looking  as  if  she  might  be 
more  readily  taken  for  daughter  than  wife.  Still  there  was  a  robust 
vigor  about  the  man  which  might  readily  encourage  a  widower  in  a 
new  country  to  venture  a  second  wife  rather  than  undergo  the  ills  of 
solitude.  Beside,  some  how  or  other,  in  all  new  countries,  the  male 
animal  being  in  reality  a  kind  of  monarch  of  all  he  surveys,  has  a 
wonderful  propensity  to  be  waited  upon,  and  the  last  act  of  benevo 
lence  he  would  be  likely  to  be  guilty  of  would  be  to  allow  any  young 
lady  to  live  without  a  master  while  he  could  officiate  in  that  capacity. 


152  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

The  old  man  and  I  chatted,  while  the  young  wife  prepared  the  supper, 
which,  in  the  West,  especially  with  travellers,  is  a  hearty  meal,  the 
rule  being  to  eat  but  twice  a  day.  Consequently,  the  preparation  for 
supper  was  no  small  affair.  There  was  evidently,  however,  a  shyness 
and  reserve  about  him,  which  I  did  not  at  first  exactly  comprehend. 
Subsequent  experience  would  have  enlightened  me  on  that  subject  at 
once,  but  it  was  some  time  before  I  discovered  that  he  had  a  great  dread 
of  "  land  speculators,"  and  suspected  me  for  being  one  of  those  much- 
dreaded  animals,  so  unpopular  in  all  new  countries.  I  was  not  igno 
rant  of  the  great  curiosity  of  all  mankind,  and  particularly  of  those 
removed  from  much  society,  and  I  might  have  adopted  Franklin's 
plan  of  telling  him  my  name,  business,  and  residence  if  I  had  not 
taken  peculiar  pleasure  in  watching  his  plan  of  attack  to  unravel  the 
mystery  of  my  appearance  in  "those  parts."  Beside,  it  was  as 
pleasant  a  way  as  any  to  beguile  the  time  before  supper. 

"  Well,  stranger,"  said  he,  "  if  I  may  make  so  bold,  what  might 
your  name  be  ?" 

"  Not  bold  at  all,"  replied  I,  "  but  a  very  natural  question  indeed, 
Sir.  My  opinion  is  that  Glasgow  will  some  day  become  a  very  large 
and  flourishing  city.  By  the  way,  can  you  tell  me,  Sir,  is  there  much 
land  about  here  to  be  had  at  government  price  ?" 

"  Why  you  see,"  continued  he,  "  my  business  of  intertainin' 
travellers  is  not  very  agreeable.  I  git  many  a  customer  that  do  n't 
look  fit  to  be  trusted  with  a  night's  lodgin' ;"  and,  glancing  above  the 
door  with  a  sort  of  blood-or-mtfney  expression  to  see  that  his  never- 
failing  rifle  was  there,  continued  ;  "but  you  see  I  keep  a  close  watch 
on  'em,  and  if  any  'scapes  me  they  're  welcome  to  all  they  git." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  "  I  should  think  from  your  phrenological  de 
velopments  that  you  were  a  very  benevolent  man,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  that  as  you  have  lived  in  this  country  for  many  years,  and 
know  all  about  the  lands,  that  you  would  take  great  pleasure  in  pointr 
ing  out  to  a  stranger  such  as  are  vacant." 

"  Well,"  rejoined  he,  "  I  should  think  you  came  from  Kentuck. 
There  's  a  great  many  land-hunters  from  Kentuck  and  Virginy  looking 
about  Howard  county,  and  I  do  n't  see  what  for,  nuther.  There 's  many 
counties  just  above  this  where  land  is  much  better  and  plcntier.'' 


RAMBLES    IN    THE    FAR    WEST.  153 

A  slight  interruption  to  our  game  of  dodge  and  gammon  occurred 
here,  by  the  entrance  of  the  wife  to  ask  the  old  man  whether  the 
stranger  would  have  tea  or  coffee.  To  which  I  volunteered  an 
answer : 

"  Thank  you,  Madam ;  you  are  very  kind.     I  will  take  tea." 

Looking  somewhat  confused,  she  stammered  out : 

"  I  am  sorry  we  have  no  tea  in  the  house  ;  it 's  just  out." 

"  No  matter,"  said  I ;  "  either  will  do." 

But,  as  if  a  new  thought  had  struck  her,  she  continued : 

"  O  Sir,  if  you  would  like  tea,  John  can  get  some  down  at  the 
store.  We  are  very  well  fixed  now ;  we  can  get  sugar,  and  coffee, 
and  tea,  and  molasses,  and  nails,  and  spades,  and  axes,  and  almost  any 
of  the  luxuries  of  life." 

I  replied : 

"  Madam,  I  dislike  to  give  your  good  husband  any  trouble,  but  if 
he  could  procure  me  a  cup  of  tea,  it  would  really  be  a  very  great 
favor,  I  so  seldom  meet  with  such  good  society  where  one  can  get  a 
nice  cup  of  tea." 

This  last  compliment  was  irresistible,  and  nolens  volens,  John 
Williams  was  despatched  for  tea.  This  afforded  me  a  few  moments' 
conversation  with  the  kind-hearted  wife,  who  confidingly  told  me  that 
her  husband,  Mr.  John  Williams,  was  a  very  clever  man.  It  was 
true  he  had  some  strange  ways  about  him,  but  after  all,  when  he 
was  n't  crossed  in  his  humor  he  was  very  kind.  A  pause  in  the  con 
versation  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  observe  her  more  closely,  and  I 
saw  clearly  that  there  was  something  on  her  mind  which  she  would 
like  to  communicate,  and  I  frankly  said : 

"  Madam,  excuse  the  liberty,  but  if  I  am  not  mistaken  you  have 
some  question  to  ask  me,  and  it  will  afford  me  great  pleasure  to  serve 
you  if  in  my  power.  Is  it  not  so  *?" 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  she  replied,  "  but  I  am  sure  you  will  excuse  me  when 
I  tell  you  that  my  husband  is  a  poor  man,  and  is  saving  up  money  to 
buy  a  piece  of  land  just  across  the  river,  which  he  is  afraid  every  day 
will  be  entered  by  some  of  those  '  land-hunters,'  and  he  has  no  peace  of 
his  life.  Now,  Sir,  I  hope  you  do  n't  intend  to  enter  it.  Do  you,  Sir  T 

"  Give  yourself  no  more  uneasiness  on  that  account,  my  dear 


154  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Madam ;  I  assure  you  I  am  not  a  land-hunter,  and  have  not  the  slight 
est  intention  of  buying  a  foot  of  ground  in  the  country." 

No  one  but  a  married  man  can  appreciate  the  sunny  smile  of  tri 
umph  which  this  good  woman  could  not  conceal  as  she  thought  of  the 
pleasure  she  had  in  store  for  the  old  man.  Just  as  he  returned  with 
the  tea,  in  stalked  another  stranger,  who  seated  himself  con  amore. 
The  old  man  and  I  did  not  resume  our  game  of  attack  and  defense. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  his  wife  had  whispered  something  in  his  ear, 
and  that  his  suspicions  were  transferred  from  me  to  the  new-comer. 
The  stranger  was  "  the  observed  of  all  observers."  I  acknowledge  to 
some  slight  curiosity  to  see  who  was  to  be  my  companion  for  the 
night,  not  doubting  that  if  any  number  short  of  a  dozen  were  to 
arrive,  they  would  all  be*  bundled  together  in  the  same  bed.  The 
good  wife  had  a  very  proper  curiosity  to  scan  his  dimensions  with  a 
view  to  ascertain  how  much  additional  provender  to  prepare ;  and  the 
old  man,  ever  ready  to  discover  his  mortal  foe  —  a  land-hunter  —  in 
every  traveller,  came  down  upon  him  with  a  fixed  stare  that  would 
have  disconcerted  any  body  but  an  Irishman  or  a  Yankee  pedlar. 

The  object  of  our  scrutiny  was  a  tall,  round-shouldered,  hatchet- 
faced  individual,  with  that  lignum-vitse  complexion  which  would  keep 
one  guessing  till  doomsday,  whether  he  was  just  thirty-five  years  old 
last  thanksgiving  day,  or  would  be  fifty  the  next.  At  a  glance  you 
would  feel  in  doubt  whether  he  was  a  rough  son  of  West-Tennessee,  or 
a  ''cute  one  in  disguise  from  the  land  of  pumpkin-pies  and  steady  habits ; 
but  one  word  uttered,  and  the  doubt  was  at  once  dispelled.  How 
ever,  let  him  speak  for  himself. 

"  Wall,  I  reckon  as  how  I  'm  just  in  the  nick  of  time,  and  no  mis 
take.  Them  are  pork  stakes  a-fryin'  out  there  wake  up  one's  innards 
at  such  a  'tarnal  rate  that  I  'm  almighty  skeared  least  the  old  woman 
should  do  up  a  short  allowance.  I  say,  landlord,  I  Ve  a  notion  this  i? 
a-growin'  up  to  be  a  smart  sort  of  a  town.  How  would  a  lot  of 
notions  take  among  ye  1  I  'm  not  partic'lar.  I  '11  swap  for  any  thing. 
Would  n't  mind  locatin'  somewhere  in  these  parts." 

And  so  he  might  have  run  on  until  his  mouth  was  filled  with  a 
piece  of  the  fat  pork  which  he  had  scented  out  so  sagaciously,  if  the 
old  man  had  not  given  him  very  strong  indications  of  displeasure  and 


RAMBLES  IN  THE  FAR  WEST.  155 

astonishment  at  his -nonchalance.  When  it  is  remembered  that  our 
new-comer  had  brought  with  him  no  visible  responsibilities  in  the 
shape  of  a  horse,  wagon,  or  pair  of  saddle-bags,  and  that  his  garments 
had  seen  many  rent-days,  the  old  man's  indignation  may  be  readily 
conceived  and  appreciated,  as  he  asked  in  a  sharp  tone : 

"  Have  you  any  business  with  me,  Sir  ?" 

The  Yankee  replied : 

"  Wall,  now,  I  rather  guess  I  have.  I  hope  I  hain't  made  no  mis 
take  nor  nothin'.  I  inquired  of  that  woolly-headed  chap  what  set  me 
over  the  river  a  spell  ago,  where  I  'd  find  a  night's  lodgin',  and  he 
p'inted  right  straight  here,  old  dad,  and  no  mistake,  and  I  walked 
right  in  and  made  myself  to  hum." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man ;  "  I  think  you  do  make  yourself  at  home 
with  a  vengeance." 

The  Yankee  rejoined : 

"  Now,  old  gentleman,  I  just  begin  to  see  how  it  is.  I  'm  all  the 
way  from  down-east,  and  I  'm  rather  green  out  here,  but  not  quite  so 
green  as  a  drake's  neck.  If  you  've  any  notion  that  I  can 't  fork  down 
the  dust,  I  rather  guess  you  're  a  little  bit  out  of  your  latitude." 

The  old  man  looked  at  me,  and  I  could  see  he  felt  that  he  had 
gone  rather  too  far,  and,  in  judging  too  much  by  appearances,  had  not 
manifested  his  usual  discretion.  I  answered  his  inquiring  glance  by 
an  indication  that  I  thought  our  Yankee  was  all  right,  and  the  old  man 
was  greatly  relieved  by  a  summons  "  to  walk  up  to  the  supper-table, 
and  be  seated." 

Who  that  has  ever  been  really  hungry  from  exposure  and  violent 
exercise,  can  fail  in  his  imagination  to  see  the  warm  fumes  rise  up 
from  a  large  pewter  platter  of  fried  pork,  and  as  he  scents  the  deli 
cious  odor,  congratulate  our  small  party  on  the  bounties  before  them  1 
Down  we  sat  and  fell  to  work  in  right  good  earnest.  For  a  few 
moments  there  was  a  truce  to  conversation  —  to  the  etiquette  of  ask 
ing  your  next  neighbor  if  you  might  have  the  pleasure  of  helping  him 
to  this  nice  bit  of  lean,  or  that  laughing  potato.  Even  our  Yankee 
was  metamorphosed  into  a  man  of  deeds,  and  not  of  words,  he  having 
hardly  waited  for  the  common  announcement  by  the  landlady,  "  Now 
all  turn  to  and  help  yourselves." 


156  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY . 

How  lamentable  has  been  his  lot  who  has  been  reared  in  the  lap 
of  luxury,  and  never  known  the  ecstasy  of  appeasing  an  honest, 
healthy  appetite !  Now  would  I  give  a  guinea  if  Miss  Bremer  had 
been  present  to  see  our  Yankee  eat.  Reader,  how  many  times  do 
you  think  he  would  have  asked  her  to  take  "  pickles  ?"  Thanks  to 
the  good  landlady,  she  had  a  whole  hog  to  cater  from ;  and  as  fast  as 
a  platter-full  was  demolished,  another  rose  up  piping  hot  in  its  place, 
until  I  began  to  doubt  whether  my  friend,  the  Yankee,  had  ever  eaten 
a  meal  before  in  his  life,  or  whether  he  might  not  have  the  faculty, 
among  his  other  thrifty  habits,  of  imitating  the  Pelican  in  stowing 
away  provisions  for  a  rainy  day. 

But  as  all  sublunary  things  must  have  an  end,  so  it  was  with  our 
supper.  After  a  hearty  meal  over  the  warm  fire,  the  traveller  is  soon 
wandering  in  the  land  of  Nod,  and  seldom  adds  much  to  the  stock  of 
information,  as  the  family  group  sit  chatting  around  the  huge  fire 
place  where  whole  trees  are  made  food  for  the  devouring  flames. 

It  was  evidently  the  desire  of  the  old  man  to  extract  the  Yankee's 
history  in  a  social  chat  after  tea;  but  either  the  Yankee  was  mum, 
when  no  more  was  to  be  made,  or  he  was  holding  an  indignation 
meeting  within  himself  on  account  of  his  previous  treatment.  Cer 
tain  it  was,  that,  with  the  question  of  "  Where  am  I  to  lay  to-night  ?" 
he  left  us  to  enjoy  ourselves  as  we  best  could  without  even  a  passing 
good-night.  Well  do  I  remember  how  he  dragged  himself  up  the 
rickety  ladder  in  the  corner ;  and  as  he  went,  I  mentally  exclaimed  : 
"  Well,  my  good  fellow,  peace  be  to  the  manes  of  the  fat  porker  who 
sleeps  with  you  to-night !  May  you  dwell  in  harmony  together !" 

The  old  man  pressed  me  for  my  opinion  of  his  lodger,  intimating 
that  he  did  not  half  like  his  looks,  and  would  n't  wonder  if  he  was  in 
search  of  land,  adding  that  he  had  always  made  it  a  point  to  know  all 
about  his  guests  before  they  passed  a  night  under  his  roof,  but  this 
fellow  would  give  him  no  satisfaction.  The  more  he  thought  of  it,  the 
more  indignant  he  grew,  and,  but  for  me,  would  have  gone  up  after 
him  to  demand  an  explanation. 

But  I  told  him  I  had  no  doubt  he  would  turn  out  a  good-enough 
fellow  in  his  way,  and  after  a  good  night's  rest  would  grow  more  com 
municative.  The  old  man  shook  his  head,  expressive  of  his  great 


RAMBLES    IN    THE    FAR   WEST.  157 

doubts,  and  by  this  time  the  good  wife  had  put  every  thing  to  rights 
for  the  night.  Sleep  soon  began  to  wait  upon  me,  and,  bidding  them 
good-night,  I  clambered  up  the  ladder  with  a  small  tin  saucer,  half- 
filled  with  lard,  in  which  a  bit  of  wick,  lighted  at  one  end,  floated 
quite  cozily. 

On  reaching  the  upper  room,  I  could  discern,  by  this  dull  light, 
that  it  was  the  same  size  as  the  one  below,  and  had  a  bed  in  each  cor 
ner.  To  have  a  whole  bed  to  myself  was  a  most  unexpected  luxury. 
My  worthy  friend,  the  Yankee,  had,  by  accident,  taken  possession  of 
the  bed  in  the  corner  immediately  over  the  one  in  the  lower  room, 
which  was  occupied  by  the  landlord  and  his  wife,  and  was  sound 
asleep,  giving  evidence  that  my  orisons  for  his  good  night's  rest  were 
being  realized.  I  must  here  explain,  that,  owing  to  a  scarcity  of  floor 
ing  plank,  the  floor  upon  which  we  were  sleeping  was  not  entirely 
laid.  The  legs  of  the  four  bed-posts  next  to  the  walls  were  left  to 
rest  upon  one  single  plank,  leaving  all  the  space  under  the  beds  open 
and  communicating  with  the  room  below.  The  inner  legs  of  the  bed 
posts  rested  upon  other  planks,  and  that  portion  of  the  floor  which 
was  in  sight  between  the  beds  was  all  properly  laid,  except  that  they 
were  not  nailed  down,  and  made  an  ominous  creaking  as  I  walked 
over  them  to  choose  my  lodging-place,  which  I  instinctively  took  as 
far  from  the  Yankee  as  possible.  Now,  this  vacuum  under  our  beds 
was  not  known  to  either  of  us  when  we  went  to  bed,  and  we  laid 
down  in  our  respective  places,  unconscious  of  any  lurking  danger 
beneath  us.  Fatigue  is  a  great  promoter  of  sound  sleep;  and  I 
should,  doubtless,  have  remained  quietly  in  the  arms  of  Morpheus 
until  morning,  had  I  not  been  aroused  by  the  sound  of  a  human  voice, 
apparently  in  great  agony.  Having  gone  to  bed,  fully  impressed 
with  the  idea  of  a  catastrophe  in  that  quarter,  I  asked,  half-asleep  and 
half-awake : 

"  Who  is  making  that  noise  ?     Is  it  the  Yankee,  or  the  pig  ?" 

To  which  I  received  no  other  answer  than  another  groan.  Rising 
up  upon  my  elbow,  I  listened  and  soon  discovered  that  the  noise  pro 
ceeded  from  the  bed  of  the  Yankee,  and  immediately  sung  out : 

"  My  dear  fellow,  what 's  the  matter  V 

But  rny  question  seemed  to  have  no  other  effect  than  to  increase 


158  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

the  rapidity  of  the  Yankee's  utterance,  as  he  continued  soliloquizing 
his  nightmare : 

"  O  Jerusalem  !  Jerusalem  !  this  beats  all  natur'.  Aunt  Jemima, 
what  shall  I  do  f ' 

Jumping  up  in  my  bed,  I  cried  out  loud  enough  to  alarm  the 
house : 

"  Hello  there !  are  you  mad  or  dreaming  1  What 's  all  that  infer 
nal  noise  about?  Are  you  going  to  die  with  the  cramp-colic,  and 
have  me  hung  for  murder  ?" 

By  this  time  I  was  getting  furious,  really  not  knowing  whether  the 
fellow  was  shamming  or  crazy,  as  I  could  not  get  a  word  out  of  him. 
But  to  my  last  appeal  he  appeared  to  understand  that  a  friend  was 
near,  and  groaned  out : 

"Them  darned  pork-steaks  have  given  me  the  'Minerva  Jane.'  " 

At  this  announcement,  I  was  almost  convulsed  with  laughter ;  but 
his  continued  groans  soon  awakened  a  sympathy  for  his  sufferings, 
and  I  replied : 

"  Why  do  n't  you  see  if  the  landlord  has  any  brandy  ?" 

No  quicker  suggested  than  attempted;  but  what  was  my  hor 
ror  when,  as  he  bounded  out  of  bed,  and  was  feeling  in  the  dark  for 
his- boots,  I  heard  one  long  agonizing  yell  of,  "Murder!  murder!"  as 
he  went  head-foremost  through  the  aperture  down  into  the  bed  on  the 
lower  floor.  Before  his  voice  had  died  away,  the  sound  was  reechoed 
by  the  old  man,  upon  whom  he  had  fallen,  and  who,  being  stunned  by 
the  shock,  and  awakened  out  of  a  dream  about  land-hunters,  redoubled 
the  shouts  until  the  whole  house  rang  with  the  startling  cry.  Spring 
ing  out  of  bed,  and  hurrying  on  my  clothes,  I  ran  down  the  ladder^ 
and  reached  the  group,  just  as  the  wife  had  struck  a  light,  and  the  old 
inan  had  discovered  the  cause  of  the  disturbance  in  the  form  of  the 
suspicious  Yankee.  The  terror  of  the  shock  and  the  monstrosity  of 
the  act,  added  the  strength  of  Hercules  to  the  old  man's  muscles,  and 
he  fell  to  belaboring  the  poor  horrified  Yankee  most  soundly.  No 
asseverations  of  innocence  could  reach  the  reason  of  the  "  green-eyed 
monster ;"  and,  but  for  the  timely  aid  of  the  Madam  and  myself,  who 
dragged  the  old  tiger  off,  the  Yankee's  peddling-days  would  have  been 
numbered.  Nothing  could  have  pacified  the  old  man  but  my  relation 


RAMBLES   IN    THE    FAR   WEST.  159 

of  the  accident,  and  the  Yankee's  Bible-oath  that  he  was  no  land- 
hunter. 

Months  afterward,  I  met  this  same  Yankee  on  the  Levee  in  New- 
Orleans,  and  he  declared  to  me  that  when  he  had  closed  out  his  ven 
ture  of  notions  —  which  did  n't  take  in  them  parts  —  he  would  go 
home  to  Varmount,  and  never,  as  long  as  he  lived,  would  he  eat  fat 
pork  for  supper,  or  go  to  sleep  in  a  strange  garret  without  first  look 
ing  under  the  bed. 


to  ftafe  0f  a 


BY  C.    A.   BRISTED. 


B Y,  the  publisher,  one  day 

Thus  to  a  friend  did  say : 
"SMITH,  I  intend'  to  start  a  Magazine, 
The  name  of  which  will  be 
'  The  Wit's  Miscellany.'  " 
Quo'  SMITH,  "  I  think  the  title  rather  green ; 
It  has  too  much  pretension 
And  not  enough  invention. 
Tou  'd  better  change  the  name."    The  other  did 
(At  least  so  he  supposed)  as  he  was  bid, 

And  called  it  "  B Y'S,"  thinking  that  as  good 

But,  though  this  name  had  cost  him  some  reflection, 
It  failed  to  obviate  his  friend's  objection, 

Who  said,  "  I  fear  I  was  misunderstood. 
The  title  '  Wit's  Miscellany '  you  know 

I  did  not  quite  appropriate  deem ; 
But  then  I  never  meant  that  you  slwuld  go 
To  the  opposite  extreme.'1'1 

11 


KBEDEKIC  8.         COZZliN 


"  MY  eyes  make  pictures  when  they  are  shut." 

IN  one  of  those  villages  peculiar  to  our  Eastern  coast,  whose  long 
lines  of  pepper-and-salt  stone-fences  indicate  laborious  if  not  profit 
able  farming,  and  the  saline  breath  of  the  ocean  has  the  effect  of 
making  fruit-trees  more  picturesque  than  productive,  in  a  stone 
chunk  of  a  house,  whose  aspect  is  quite  as  interesting  to  the  geologist 
as  to  the  architect,  lives  Captain  Belgrave. 

The  Captain,  as  he  says  himself,  "is  American  clean  through, 
on  the  father's  side,  up  to  Plymouth  Rock,  and  knows  little,  and  cares 
less,  of  what  is  beyond  that."  To  hear  him  talk,  you  would  suppose 
Adam  and  Eve  had  landed  there  from  the  May-Flower,  and  the 
Garden  of  Eden  was  located  within  rifle  distance  of  that  celebrated 
land-mark.  His  genealogical  table,  however,  stands  upon  unequal 
legs ;  for,  on  his  mother's  side  he  is  part  German  and  part  Irishman. 
I  mention  this  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  believe  that  certain 
qualities  in  men  are  hereditary.  Of  course  it  will  be  easy  for  them 
to  assign  those  of  Captain  Belgrave  to  their  proper  source. 

The  house  is  square,  and  not  remarkable  except  for  its  stone 
turret  on  one  corner.  This,  rising  from  the  ground  some  forty  feet, 
embroidered  with  ivy,  and  pierced  with  arrow-slits,  has  rather  a 
feudal  look.  It  stands  in  a  by-lane,  apart  from  the  congregated 
village.  On  the  right  side  of  the  road  is  a  plashy  spring,  somewhat 
redolent  of  mint  in  the  summer.  Opposite  to  this,  in  a  clump  of 


164  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

oaks,  surrounded  with  a  picket-fence,  is  the  open  porch,  with  broad 
wooden  benches,  and  within  is  an  ample  hall,  looking  out  upon  well- 
cultivated  fields,  and  beyond  —  blue  water !  This  is  the  "  Oakery,"  as 
Captain  Belgrave  calls  it.  Here  he  lives  with  his  brother  Adol- 
phus  —  bachelors  both. 

His  title  is  a  mystery.  There  is  a  legend  in  the  village,  that  in 
the  last  war  Belgrave  was  enrolled  in  the  militia  on  some  frontier. 
One  night  he  was  pacing  as  sentinel  on  a  long  wooden  piazza  in  front 
of  the  General's  quarters.  It  was  midnight ;  the  cdmp  was  asleep, 
and  the  moon  was  just  sinking  in  a  bank  of  clouds.  Belgrave  heard 
a  footstep  on  the  stairs  at  the  end  of  the  piazza.  "  Who  goes  there  ?" 
No  answer.  Another  step.  "  Who  goes  there  ?"  he  repeated,  and 
his  heart  began  to  fail  him.  No  answer  —  but  another  step.  He 
cocked  his  musket.  Step,  step,  step,  and  then  between  him  and 
the  sinking  moon  appeared  an  enormous  head  decorated  with  dia 
bolical  horns.  Belgrave  drew  a  long  breath  and  fired.  The  next 
instant  the  spectre  was  upon  him ;  he  was  knocked  down ;  the 
drums  beat  to  arms ;  the  guard  turned  out,  and  found  the  sentinel 
stretched  upon  the  floor,  with  an  old  he-goat,  full  of  defiance  and 
odor,  standing  on  him.  From  that  time  he  was  called  "  Captain." 

No  place,  though  it  be  a  paradise,  is  perfect  without  one  of  the 
gentler  sex.  There  is  a  lady  at  the  Oakery.  Miss  Augusta  Belgrave 
is  a  maiden  of  about  —  let  me  see ;  her  age  was  formerly  inscribed 
on  the  fly-leaf  of  the  family  Bible  between  the  Old  and  New  Testa 
ments  ;  but  the  page  was  torn  out,  and  now  it  is  somewhere  in  the 
Apocrypha.  No  matter  what  it  may  be ;  if  you  were  to  see  her, 
you  would  say  she  was  safe  over  the  breakers.  Two  unmarried 
brothers,  with  a  spinster  sister,  living  alone:  it  is  not  unfrequent 
in  old  families.  The  rest  of  the  household  may  be  embraced  in 
Hannah,  the  help,  who  is  also  "  a  maiden  all  forlorn,"  and  Jim,  the 
stable-boy.  Jim  is  a  unit,  as  well  as  the  rest.  Jim  has  been  a 
stable-boy  all  his  life,  and  now,  at  the  age  of  sixty,  is  only  a  boy 
ripened.  His  chief  pride  and  glory  is  to  drive  a  pair  of  bob-tailed 
bay  trotters  that  are  (traditionally)  fast !  Adolphus,  who  has  a  turn 
for  literature,  christened  the  off-horse  "Spectator;"  but  the  near 
horse  came  from  a  bankrupt  wine-broker,  who  named  him  "  Chateau 


CAPTAIN   BELGRAVE.  165 

Margaux."     This  the  Captain  reduced  to  "  Shatto,"  and  the  village 
people  corrupted  to  "  Shatter !" 

There  was  something  bold  and  jaunty  in  the  way  the  Captain  used 
to  drive  old  Shatter  on  a  dog-trot  through  the  village,  (Spectator 
rarely  went  with  his  mate  except  to  church  on  Sundays,)  with  squared 
elbows,  and  whip  depending  at  a  just  angle  over  the  dash-board. 
"Talk  of  your  fast  horses !"  he  would  say.  "Why,  if  I  would  only 
let  him  out,"  pointing  his  whip,  like  a  marshal's  baton,  toward 
Shatter,  "  you  would  see  time  /"  But  he  never  lets  him  out. 

The  square  turret  rises  considerably  above  the  house-roof.  Every 
night,  at  bed-time,  the  villagers  see  a  light  shining  through  its  narrow 
loop-holes.  There  are  loop-holes  in  the  room  below,  and  strong  case 
ments  of  ordinary  size  in  the  rooms  adjoining.  In  the  one  next  to  it 
Miss  Augusta  sleeps,  as  all  the  village  knows,  for  she  is  seen  at  times 
looking  out  of  the  window.  Next  to  that  is  another  room,  in  which 
Adolphus  sleeps.  He  is  often  seen  looking  out  of  that  window. 
Next,  again,  to  that  is  the  vestal  chamber  of  Hannah,  on  the  south 
west  corner  of  the  house.  She  is  sometimes  seen  looking  out  of  the 
window  on  either  side.  Next  to  that  again  is  the  dormitory  of  Jim, 
the  stable-boy.  Jim  always  smells  like  a  menagerie,  and  so  does  his 
room,  no  doubt.  He  never  looks  out  of  the  window  except  upon  the 
Fourth  of  July,  when  there  is  too  much  noise  in  the  village  to  risk 
driving  Spec  and  Shat.  No  living  person  but  the  occupants  has 
ever  been  in  that  story  of  the  house.  No  living  person  understands 
the  mystery  of  the  tower.  The  light  appears  at  night  through  the 
loop-holes  in  the  second  story,  then  flashes  upward,  shines  again 
through  the  slits  in  the  lofty  part  of  the  turret,  burns  steadily  half 
an  hour  or  so,  and  then  vanishes.  Who  occupies  that  lonely  turret  ? 

Let  us  take  the  author-privilege  and  ascend  the  stairs.  First  we 
come  to  Jim's  room  ;  we  pass  through  that  into  Hannah's  apartment. 
There  is  a  bolt  on  the  inside  of  her  door ;  we  pass  on  into  the  room 
of  Adolphus  ;  it,  too,  has  a  bolt  on  the  inside.  Now  all  the  virtues 
guide  and  protect  us,  for  we  are  in  the  sleeping-apartment  of  the 
spinster  sister !  It,  too,  has  a  bolt  on  the  inside  ;  and  here  we  are  in 
the  tower :  the  door,  like  the  rest,  is  bolted.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
room  but  the  carpet  on  the  floor ;  no  stair-case,  but  a  trap-door  in  the 


KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

ceiling.  It  is  but  a  short  flight  for  fancy  to  reach  the  upper  story. 
The  trap  is  bolted  in  the  floor  ;  there  is  a  ladder  standing  beside  it ; 
here  are  chairs,  a  bureau,  a  table,  with  an  extinguished  candle,  and 
the  moonlight  falls  in  a  narrow  strip  across  the  features  of  Captain 
Belgrave,  fast  asleep,  and  beside  him  a  Bible,  and  an  enormous  horse- 
pistol,  loaded. 

Nowhere  but  in  the  household  of  some  old  bachelor  could  such 
discipline  exist  as  in  the  Oakery.  At  night  the  Captain  is  the  first  to 
retire ;  Miss  Augusta  follows  with  a  pair  of  candlesticks  and  candles ; 
then  metaphysical  Adolphus  with  his  mind  in  painful  state  of  fermen 
tation  ;  then  Hannah,  the  help,  with  a  small  brass  candlestick ;  then 
Jim,  the  stable-boy,  who  usually  waits  until  the  company  is  on  the 
top-stair,  when  he  makes  a  false  start,  breaks,  pulls  himself  up,  and 
gets  into  a  square  trot  just  in  time  to  save  being  distanced  at  the 
landing.  Adolphus  and  Jim  are  not  trusted  with  candles.  Miss 
Augusta  is  rigorous  on  that  point.  She  permits  the  Captain  to  have 
one  because  he  is  careful  with  it;  beside,  he  owns  the  house  and 
every  thing  in  it ;  the  land  and  every  thing  on  it ;  and  supports  the 
family  ;  therefore  his  sister  indulges  him.  We  now  understand  the 
internal  arrangement  of  the  Oakery.  It  is  a  fort,  a  castle,  a  citade!, 
of  which  Augusta  is  the  scarp,  Jim  the  glacis,  Hannah  the  counter 
scarp,  and  Adolphus  the  ditch.  The  Captain  studied  the  science  of 
fortification  after  his  return  from  the  wars. 

The  Belgraves  are  intimate  only  with  one  family  in  the  village, 
and  they  are  new  acquaintances  —  the  Mewkers.  There  is  Mr. 
Mewker,  Mrs.  Mewker,  Mrs.  Lasciver,  formerly  Miss  Mewker,  and 
six  or  seven  little  Mewkers.  Mewker  has  the  reputation  of  being  a 
good  man,  but  unfortunately  his  appearance  is  not  prepossessing. 
He  has  large  bunchy  feet,  with  very  ineffectual  legs,  low  shoulders, 
a  sunken  chest,  a  hollow  cavity  under  the  waistcoat,  little,  weak, 
eyes  that  seem  set  in  bladders,  straggling  hair,  rusty  whiskers, 
black,  and  yellow  teeth,  and  long,  skinny,  disagreeable  fingers ; 
beside,  he  is  knock-kneed,  shuffling  in  gait,  and  always  leans  on  one 
side  when  he  walks.  Uncharitable  people  say  he  leans  on  the  side 
where  his  interests  lie,  but  Captain  Belgrave  will  not  believe  a  word 
of  it.  Oh  !  no  ;  Mewker  is  a  different  man  from  that.  He  is  a  mem- 


CAPTAIN   BELGRAVE.  167 

ber  of  the  church,  and  sings  in  the  choir.  He  is  executor  of  several 
estates,  and  of  course  takes  care  of  the  orphans  and  widows.  He 
holds  the  church  money  in  trust,  and  of  course  handles  it  solely  to 
promote  its  interests.  And  then  he  is  so  deferential,  so  polite,  so 
charitable.  "  Never,"  says  the  Captain,  "  did  I  hear  him  speak  ill  of 
any  body,  but  he  lets  me  into  the  worst  points  of  my  neighbors  by 
jest  teching  on  'em,  and  then  he  excuses  their  fibles,  as  if  he  was  kind 
o'  sorry  for  'em  ;  but  I  keeps  my  eye  onto  'em  after  the  hints  he  give 
me,  and  he  ca  n't  blind  me  to  them." 

Harriet  Lasciver,  formerly  Miss  Mewker,  is  a  widow,  perfectly 
delicious  in  dimples  and  dimity,  fond  of  high  life  and  low-necked 
dresses,  music,  birds,  and  camelias.  Captain  Belgrave  has  a  great 
fancy  for  the  charming  widow.  This  is  a  secret,  however.  You  and  I 
know  itj  and  so  does  Mewker. 

It  is  Sunday  in  Little-Crampton  —  a  summer  Sunday.  The  old- 
fashioned  flowers  are  blooming  in  the  old-fashioned  gardens,  and  the 
last  vibration  of  the  old  rusty  bell  in  the  century-old  belfry  seems 
dying  off,  and  melting  away  in  fragrance.  Outside,  the  village  is 
quiet,  but  within  the  church  there  is  an  incessant  plying  of  fans  and 
rustling  of  dresses.  The  Belgraves  are  landed  at  the  porch,  and 
Spec  and  Shat  whirl  the  family  carriage  into  the  grave-yard.  The 
Mewkers  enter  with  due  decorum.  Adolphus  drops  his  hymn-book 
into  the  pew  in  front,  as  he  always  does.  The  little  flatulent  organ 
works  through  the  voluntary.  The  sleek  head  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Spat 
is  projected  toward  the  audience  out  of  the  folds  of  his  cambric 
handkerchief;  and  after  doing  as  much  damage  to  the  simple  and 
beautiful  service  as  he  can  by  reading  it,  flourishes  through  the  regular 
old  Spatsonian  sermon ;  its  tiresome  repetitions  and  plagiarisms, 
with  the  same  old  rising  and  falling  inflections,  the  same  old  tremu 
lous  tone  toward  the  end,  as  if  he  were  crying ;  the  same  old  recu 
perative  method  by  which  he  recovers  his  lost  voice  in  the  last 
sentence,  when  it  was  all  but  gone ;  and  the  same  old  gesture  by 
which  the  audience  understand  that  his  labors  (and  theirs)  are  over 
for  the  morning.  Then  the  congregation  departs  with  the  usual 
accompaniments  of  dresses  rustling,  and  pew-doors  slamming ;  and 
Mr.  Meeker  descends  from  the  choir  and  sidles  up  the  aisle,  nursing 


168  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

his  knobs  of  elbows  in  his  skinny  fingers,  and  congratulates  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Spat  upon  the  excellent  discourse  he  had  delivered,  and  receives 
the  customary  quid  pro  quo  in  the  shape  of  a  compliment  upon  the 
excellent  singing  in  the  choir.  This  account  adjusted,  Mr.  Mewker 
shuffles  home  beside  the  lovely  widow ;  and  Mrs.  Mewker  and  the 
small  fry  of  members  follow  in  their  wake. 

"I  have  looked  into  the  records  in  the  county  clerk's  office," 
Mewker  says,  in  a  whisper,  to  his  sister,  "  and  the  property  is  all 
right.  That  old  Thing,  (unconscious  Augusta  Bclgrave,  rolling 
home  behind  Spec  and  Shat,  do  you  hear  this?)  that  old  Thing, 
and  that  fool  of  a  book-worm  (Adolphus)  can  be  packed  off  after 
the  wedding,  and  then  we  can  arrange  matters  between  us.  Spat 
understands  me  in  this,  and  intends  to  be  hand  and  glove  with  Bel- 
grave,  so  as  to  work  upon  him.  He  will,  he  must  do  it,  for  he  knows 
that  his  remaining  in  this  church  depends  upon  me."  Here  Mr. 
Mewker  was  interrupted  by  one  of  the  young  Mewkers,  who  came 
running  up,  hat  in  hand.  "  Oh !  pa,  look  there !  see  those  beautiful 
climbing  roses  growing  all  over  that  old  tree !"  "  Jacob,"  said 
Mewker,  catching  him  by  the  hair,  and  rapping  his  head  with  his 
bony  knuckles  until  the  tears  came,  "  have  n't  I  told  you  not  to  speak 
of  such  trivial  things  on  the  Sabbath?  How  dare  you  (with  a 
repetition  of  raps)  think  of  climbing  roses  so  soon  after  church? 
Go ;  (with  a  fresh  clutch  in  the  scalp  of  Mewker,  Junior,)  go  to  your 
mother,  and  when  I  get  home  I  will  punish  you."  Mr.  Mewker 
resumed  the  whispered  conversation.  "Belgrave  is  ruled  entirely 
by  his  sister,  but  between  Spat  and  I,  she  can  be  blinded,  I  think.  If 
she  should  suspect,  now,  she  would  interfere,  of  course,  and  Belgrave 
would  not  dare  to  disobey  her.  But  if  we  can  get  him  committed 
once  in  some  way,  he  is  such  a  coward  that  he  would  be  entirely 
in  my  power.  Dear,"  he  said  aloud  to  Mrs.  M.,  "how  did  you 
like  the  sermon?"  "Angelic,"  replies  Mrs.  Mewker.  "That's  my 
opinion,  too,"  responds  Mewker.  "Angelic,  angelic.  Spat  is  a  lovely 
man,  my  dear.  What  is  there  for  dinner  ?" 

If  there  were  some  feminine  meter  by  which  Harriet  Lasciver's 
soul  could  be  measured,  it  would  indicate  "  good"  pretty  high  up  on 
the  scale.  Yet  she  had  listened  to  this  after-church  discourse  of  her 


CAPTAIN   BELGRAVE.  169 

brother  not  only  with  complacency,  but  with  a  full  and  unequivocal 
assent  to  all  he  had  proposed.  So  she  would  have  listened,  so 
assented  to  any  thing,  no  matter  what,  proposed  by  him ;  and  all 
things  considered,  it  was  not  surprising.  Even  as  continued  attrition 
wears  the  angles  of  the  flint  until  it  is  moulded  into  the  perfect 
pebble,  so  had  her  nature  been  moulded  by  her  brother.  He  had 
bullied  her  in  her  childhood  and  in  her  womanhood,  except  when 
there  was  a  purpose  in  view  which  he  could  better  accomplish  by 
fawning;  and  her  natural  good  disposition,  so  indurated  by  these 
opposed  modes  of  treatment,  had  become  as  insensible  to  finer  emo 
tions  as  her  heart  was  callous  to  its  own  impulses.  There  was  one 
element  in  his  composition  which  at  all  times  had  cast  a  gloss  upon 
his  actions.  It  was  his  piety !  God  help  us !  that  any  one  should 
allude  to  that  but  with  reverence  and  love !  Nor  do  I  here  speak 
of  it  but  as  a  profession,  an  art,  or  specious  showing  forth  of  some 
thing  that  is  not  real,  but  professed,  in  order  to  accomplish  other  ends. 
What  profited  her  own  experience,  when  Harriet  Lasciver  was  so  far 
imposed  upon  as  to  believe  her  brother's  professions  sincere  ?  What 
though  all  his  life  he  had  been  a  crooked  contriver  and  plotter, 
malicious  in  his  enmity,  and  false  in  his  friendship ;  and  she  knew  it  ? 
Yet,  as  she  could  not  reconcile  it  with  his  affected  sanctity,  she  could 
not  believe  it.  That  wonderful  power  which  men  seldom,  and  women 
never  analyze  —  hypocrisy,  held  her  entangled  in  its  meshes,  and  she 
was  his  instrument  to  be  guided  as  he  chose.  Every  noble  trait 
true  woman  possesses  —  pity,  tenderness,  love,  and  high  honor  — 
were  commanded  by  an  influence  she  could  not  resist.  Her  reason, 
nay,  her  feelings  were  dormant,  but  her  faith  slept  securely  upon 
her  brother's  religion ! 

In  this  instance  there  was  another  consideration  —  a  minor  one,  it 
is  true,  but  in  justice  to  the  widow,  it  must  be  added.  She  really 
admired  the  Captain ;  but  that  makes  no  great  difference.  A  widow 
must  love  some  body.  Those  delicate  tendrils  of  affection  which  put 
forth,  with  the  experiences  of  the  young  wife  die  not  in  the  widow, 
but  survive,  and  must  have  some  support.  Even  if  the  object  be  un 
worthy  or  unsightly,  as  it  happens  sometimes,  still  will  they  bind, 
and  bloom,  and  cling,  and  blossom  around  it,  like  honey-suckles 
around  a  post. 


170  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

The  windows  at  the  Oakery  are  open,  and  the  warm  air  of  a  Sun 
day  summer  evening  pours  in,  as  Augusta  pours  out  the  tea.  The 
Captain  burns  his  mouth  with  the  first  cup,  turns  the  tea  into  the  sau 
cer,  blows  it  to  cool  it,  drinks  it  off  hastily,  takes  a  snap  at  the  thin, 
white  slice  of  bread  on  his  plate,  takes  another  snap  at  a  radish  some 
what  overcharged  with  salt,  wipes  his  mouth,  goes  to  the  window  and 
calls  out  "Jim!"  Jim  appears  at  the  stable-door  with  a  wisp  of 
straw  and  a  curry-comb.  "  Put  in  the  hosses  !"  Jim  telegraphs  with 
the  curry-comb,  "All  right,  Sir!"  Augusta  stares  at  Adolphus,  and 
Adolphus  brushes  the  metaphysical  films  from  his  eyes,  and,  for  once, 
seems  wide  awake.  The  Captain  takes  his  seat  and  a  fresh  snap  at 
the  bread.  Augusta  looks  at  him  steadily.  "  Why,  brother,  where 
are  you  going  with  the  horses  on  Sunday  afternoon  ?"  The  Captain 
squints  at  the  bread,  and  answers,  "  To  Mewker's."  "  Mewker's !" 
repeats  Augusta ;  "  Mewker's !  why,  brother,  you  're  crazy ;  they 
never  receive  company  on  Sunday.  You  know  how  strictly  pious 
Mr.  Mewker  is,  and  he  would  look  at  you  with  amazement.  To  see 
you  riding,  too  !  why  —  I  —  never !" 

The  Captain,  however,  said  nothing,  but  waited,  with  some  impa 
tience,  until  Spec  and  Shat  turned  out  with  the  carriage  from  the  sta 
ble.  Then  he  took  the  ribbons,  stopped,  threw  them  down,  went  up 
into  the  tower,  came  back  with  a  clean  shirt  on,  climbed  into  the  seat, 
and  drove  off. 

"  He  '11  come  back  from  there  in  a  hurry,  I  guess,"  said  Augusta 
to  the  wondering  Adolphus. 

But  the  Captain  did  not  return  until  eleven  that  night,  and  then 
somewhat  elevated  with  wine.  "  Augushta,"  said  he,  as  the  procession 
formed  as  usual  on  the  stairs,  "  that  Mucous  'sha  clever  feller,  heesha 
clever  feller,  heesha  dev'lish  clever  feller;  heesh  fond  of  talking  on 
church  matters,  and  sho  'mi.  His  shister,  sheesha  another  clever  fel 
ler,  she  's  a  chump !  I  asked  'em  to  come  to-morrow  to  tea,  and 
shaid  they  would." 

"  Why,  brother,  to-morrow  is  Monday,  washing-day !"  replied  the 
astonished  spinster. 

"  Tha  's  a  fack,  Gushta,  fack,"  answered  the  Captain,  as  he  took 
the  candle  from  his  sister  at  the  tower-door  ;  "  but,  wash  or  no  wash, 


CAPTAIN   BELGRAVE.  171 

musht  come.  When  I  ask  'em  to  come,  musht  come.  Good 
night!" 

The  bolts  are  closed  on  the  several  doors,  scarp  and  counterscarp, 
ditch  and  glacis  are  wrapped  in  slumber ;  but  the  Captain  lies  wide 
awake,  looking  through  the  slits  in  the  tower  casement  at  the  Great 
Bear  in  the  sky,  and  thinking  rapturously  of  the  lovely  Lasciver. 

Never  did  the  old  family  carriage  have  such  a  polishing  as  on  that 
Monday  morning.  Never  did  Jim  so  bestir  himself  with  the  harness 
as  on  that  day  under  the  eye  of  Belgrave.  The  Captain  neglects  to 
take  his  accustomed  ride  to  the  village  in  the  morning,  that  Spec 
and  Shat  may  be  in  condition  for  the  afternoon.  At  last  the  carriage 
rolls  up  the  road  from  the  Oakery,  with  Jim  on  the  box,  and  the  Cap 
tain  retires  to  dress  for  company.  In  due  course  the  carriage  returns 
with  Spec  and  Shat  somewhat  blown  with  an  over-load ;  for  all  the 
young  Mewkers  are  piled  up  inside,  on  the  laps  of  Mrs.  Mewker  and 
the  lovely  Lasciver.  Then  Augusta  hurries  into  the  kitchen  to  tell 
Hannah,  the  help,  to  cut  more  bread  for  the  brats,  and  Adolphus  is  hur 
ried  out  into  the  garden  to  pull  more  radishes,  and  the  young  Mew- 
ker  tribe  get  into  his  little  library,  and  revel  in  his  choice  books,  and 
quarrel  over  them,  and  scatter  some  leaves  and  covers  on  the  floor  as 
trophies  of  the  fight.  Then  the  tea  is  brought  on,  and  the  lovely  Las 
civer  tries  in  vain  to  soften  the  asperity  of  Augusta ;  and  then  Mew 
ker  takes  her  in  hand,  and  does  succeed,  and  in  a  remarkable  degree, 
too.  Meanwhile  the  ciphers  of  the  party,  Mrs.  Mewker  and  Adol 
phus,  drink  and  eat  in  silence.  Then  they  adjourn  to  the  porch,  and 
Mewker  sits  beside  Augusta,  and  entertains  her  with  an  account  of 
the  missions  in  Surinam,  to  which  she  turns  an  attentive  ear.  Then 
Mrs.  Mewker  says  it  is  time  to  go,  "  on  account  of  the  children,"  at 
which  Mewker  darts  a  petrifying  look  at  her,  and  turns  with  a  smile 
to  Augusta,  who,  in  the  honesty  of  her  heart,  says  "  she,  too,  thinks  it 
is  best  for  the  young  ones  to  go  to  bed  early."  Then  Jim  is  sum 
moned  from  the  stable,  and  Spec  and  Shat ;  and  the  Mewkers  take 
leave,  and  whirl  along  the  road  again  toward  home. 

It  was  long  before  the  horses  returned,  for  Jim  drove  back  slowly. 
There  was  not  a  tenderer  heart  in  the  world  than  the  one  which  beat 
in  the  bosom  of  that  small  old  boy  of  sixty.  He  sat  perched  upon 


172  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

the  box,  calling  out,  "  Gently,  soho !"  to  Spec  and  Shat,  when  they 
advanced  beyond  a  walk,  and  held  a  talk  with  himself  in  this  wise : 
"  I  do  n't  want  to  carry  that  old  carcase  agin.  He  gits  in  and  praises 
up  the  Cap'n  so  as  /  can  hear  him,  and  then  asks  me  if  I  wo  n't  lay 
the  whip  on  the  bosses.  Says  I, '  Mr.  Mewker,  them  bosses  has  been 
druv.'  Says  he,  l  Yes,  James,  but  you  can  give  'em  a  good  rubbin' 
down  when  you  get  to  hum,  and  that  will  fetch  'em  all  right.'  Now, 
I  want  to  know  if  you  take  a  man,  and  lay  a  whip  onto  him,  and 
make  him  travel  till  he  's  sore,  whether  rubbin'  down  is  a-goin'  to 
make  him  all  right  ?  No,  Sir.  Then  he  calls  me  James.  I  do  n't 
want  no  man  to  call  me  James ;  my  name  's  Jim.  There  was  old 
Midgely ;  he  called  me  James ;  did  n't  he  coax  out  of  me  all  I  'd 
saved  up  for  more  'n  twenty  years,  and  then  busted?  There  was 
Deacon  Cotton ;  did  n't  he  come  in  over  the  Captain  with  that  pork  1 
He  called  me  James,  too.  And  there  was  that  psalm-singin'  peddler 
that  got  Miss  Augusty  to  lend  him  the  colt ;  he  called  me  James.  Did 
he  bring  the  colt  back  ?  No,  Sir ;  at  least  not  yit,  and  it 's  more  'n 
three  years  ago.  When  a  man  calls  me  James,  I  take  my  eye  and 
places  it  onto  him.  I  hearn  him  when  he  tells  Miss  Mewker  not  to 
give  beggars  nothin'.  /  hearn  him.  He  sez  they  may  be  impostors ! 
Well,  'spose  they  be  ?  When  a  feller-creatur'  gits  so  low  as  to  beg, 
have  n't  they  got  low  enough  1  Aint  they  ragged,  dirty,  despised  ? 
Do  n't  they  run  a  chance  of  starvin',  impostors  or  not,  if  every 
body  drives  'em  off?  And  what  great  is  it  if  they  do  get  a-head  of 
you,  for  a  crumb  or  a  cent  ?  When  I  see  a  feller-creatur'  in  rags, 
beggin',  I  say  human  natur'  has  got  low  enough ;  it 's  in  rags !  it 
begs !  it 's  'way  down,  and  it  do  n't  make  much  difference  if  it  's 
actin'  or  not.  Them  aint  impostors  that  will  do  much  harm.  Them 
aint  impostors  like  old  Midgely,  and  Deacon  Cotton,  and  that  psalm- 
singin'  peddler  that  borrowed  the  colt ;  at  least  they  do  n't  cut  it  so 
fat.  But  'spose  they  don't  happin'  to  be  impostors,  arter  all? 
Whar  's  that  account  to  be  squared  ?  I  guess  I  'd  rayther  be  the  beg 
gar  than  the  other  man  when  that  account  is  squared.  I  guess  when 
that  account  is  squared,  it  will  kind  a-look  as  if  the  impostor  was  n't 
the  one  that  asked  for  the  stale  bread,  but  the  one  that  would  n't  give 
it.  Seems  as  if  I  Ve  heard  'em  tell  about  a  similar  case  somewhere." 


CAPTAIN   BELGRAVE.  173 

A  good  rubbing  down,  indeed,  for  Spec  and  Shat  that  night,  and  a 
well-filled  manger,  too.  When  Jim  picked  up  his  stable-lantern,  he 
gave  each  horse  a  pat  on  the  head  and  a  parting  hug,  and  then  backed 
out.  with  his  eyes  still  on  them.  "  Spec !"  said  he  at  the  door.  Spec 
gave  a  whinny  in  reply.  "  Shat !"  Shat  responded  also.  "  Good 
night,  old  boys !  Old  Jim  aint  a-goin'  to  lay  no  whip  onto  you.  If 
old  Jim  wants  to  lay  a  whip  onto  something,  it  wo  n't  be  onto  you, 
that 's  been  spavined  and  had  the  bots,  and  he  's  cured  'em,  and  they 
know  it,  hey!  No,  Sir.  His  'tipathy  works  outside  into  another 
quarter.  Is  my  name  James  ?  Well,  it  aint.  It 's  Jim,  is  n't  it  1 
Yes,  Sir!" 

Old  Jim's  remarks  being  ended,  and  the  stable-door  locked, 
nothing  remained  for  him  to  do  but  to  form  the  glacis  before  the 
Belgrave  citadel. 

From  that  night,  however,  the  halcyon  days  of  Spec  and  Shat 
were  at  an  end.  The  Mewkers  loved  to  ride,  but  they  had  no  horses : 
the  only  living  thing  standing  upon  four  legs  belonging  to  Mr.  Mew- 
ker  was  an  ugly,  half-starved,  cross-grained,  suspicious-looking  dog, 
that  had  the  mange  and  a  bad  reputation.  Of  course,  the  Captain's 
horses  were  at  their  service,  for  rides  to  the  beach,  for  pic-nics  in  the 
woods,  for  shopping  in  the  village,  or,  perchance,  to  take  Mr.  Mewker 
to  some  distant  church-meeting.  And  not  only  were  the  horses 
absent  at  unusual  times ;  there  seemed  to  be  a  growing  fondness  in 
the  Captain  for  late  hours.  The  old-style  regularity  of  the  Oakery, 
the  time-honored  habits  of  early  hours  to  bed,  the  usual  procession  up 
the  stairs,  formal  but  cheerful,  were,  in  some  measure,  broken  into ; 
not  but  what  these  were  observed  as  formerly  ;  not  but  what  every 
member  of  the  family  waited  and  watched  until  the  Captain  returned, 
no  matter  how  late ;  but  that  sympathetic  feeling  which  all  had  felt 
when  the  hour  of  bed-time  came,  had  ceased  to  be,  and  in  its  place 
was  the  dreary  languor,  the  tiresome,  tedious  feeling  that  those  expe 
rience  who  sit  up  and  wait  and  wait,  for  an  absent  one,  waiting  and 
asking,  "  Why  tarry  the  wheels  of  his  chariot  ?"  There  was  an  increas 
ing  presentiment,  a  gloomy  foreshadowing  of  evil,  in  Miss  Augusta's 
mind  at  these  doings  of  the  Captain ;  and  this  feeling  was  heightened 
by  something,  trifling  in  itself,  yet  still  mysterious  and  unaccountable. 


174  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Some  body,  almost  every  day,  cut  off  a  tolerably  large  piece  from  the 
beef  or  mutton,  or  whatever  kind  of  meat  there  chanced  to  be  in  the 
cellar.  And  no  body  knew  any  thing  about  it.  Hannah  was  fidelity 
itself;  Jim  was  beyond  suspicion ;  Adolphus  never  went  into  the  cel 
lar,  scarcely  out  of  the  library,  in  fact.  The  Captain !  could  it  be  her 
brother  ?  Miss  Augusta  watched.  She  saw  him  do  it.  She  saw  him 
covertly  draw  his  jack-knife  from  his  pocket,  and  purloin  a  piece  of 
beautiful  rump-steak,  then  wrap  it  up  in  paper,  put  it  in  his  pocket, 
and  walk  off  whistling,  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  "  The  widow  is 
at  the  bottom  of  this !"  was  the  thought  that  flashed  through  the  mind 
of  Augusta.  She  was  indirectly  correct.  The  widow  was  at  the  bot 
tom  of  the  theft,  and  I  will  tell  you  how.  I  have  mentioned  a  large, 
mangy  dog,  of  disreputable  character,  Mr.  Mewker's  property,  and 
"  Bose"  by  name.  Whenever  the  Captain  drove  up  the  path  to  the 
house  of  his  friend,  there,  beside  the  step  of  the  wagon,  from  the  time 
it  passed  the  gate  until  it  reached  the  porch,  was  this  dog,  with  a  tail 
short  as  pie-crust,  that  never  wagged ;  thick,  wicked  eyes,  and  a  face 
that  did  not  suggest  fidelity  and  sagacity,  but  treachery  and  rapine, 
dead  sheep,  and  larceny  great  or  small.  And  although  the  Captain 
was  a  stout,  active,  well-framed  man,  with  a  rosy  cheek,  a  bright  eye, 
and  a  sprightly  head  of  hair,  yet  he  was  afraid  of  that  dog.  And 
therefore,  the  Captain,  to  conciliate  Bose,  brought  him  every  day 
some  choice  morsel  from  his  own  kitchen ;  and  as  he  did  not  dare 
to  tell  Augusta,  the  same  was.  abstracted  in  the  manner  already 
described. 

Here  I  must  mention  a  peculiarity  in  Captain  Belgrave's  charac 
ter.  He  never  saw  a  dog  without  thinking  of  hydrophobia ;  he  never 
bathed  on  the  beautiful  beach  in  the  rear  of  his  house  without  imagin 
ing  every  chip  in  the  water,  or  ripple  on  the  wrave,  to  be  the  dorsal 
fin  of  some  voracious  shark.  When  he  drove  home  at  night,  it  was 
with  fear  and  trembling,  for  an  assassin  might  be  lurking  in  the 
bushes ;  and  if  he  passed  a  sick  neighbor,  he  walked  off  with  small 
pox,  measles,  typhoid,  and  whooping-cough  trundling  at  his  heels.  In 
a  word,  he  was  the  most  consummate  coward  in  Little-Crampton.  It 
wras  for  this  reason  he  had  built  and  slept  in  the  tower ;  and  what  with 
reading  of  pirates,  buccaneers,  Captain  Kidd,  and  Black  Beard,  his 


CAPTAIN   BELGBAVE.  175 

mind  was  so  infected  that  no  sleeping-place  seemed  secure  and  safe, 
but  his  own  turret  and  trap-door,  scarp,  counterscarp,  ditch,  and  gla 
cis,  through  which  all  invaders  had  to  pass  before  they  encountered 
him  with  his  tremendous  horse-pistol. 

It  was  not  the  discovery  of  the  theft  alone  that  had  opened  the 
eyes  of  Augusta  in  regard  to  her  brother's  motions.  Although  he  had 
told  her,  again  and  again,  that  he  merely  went  to  Mewkers  to  talk 
over  church  matters,  yet  she  knew  intuitively,  as  every  woman  would, 
that  a  widow  so  lovely  as  Harriet  Lasciver  could  not  but  have  great 
attractions  for  such  an  old  bachelor  as  her  brother.  In  fact,  she 
knew,  if  the  widow,  as  the  phrase  is,  "  set  her  cap  for  him,"  the  Cap 
tain  was  a  lost  man.  But  to  whom  could  she  apply  for  counsel  and 
assistance  1  Adolphus  1  Adolphus  had  no  more  sense  than  a  kitten. 
Hannah1?  There  was  something  of  the  grand  old  spinster — spirit 
about  Augusta  that  would  not  bend  to  the  level  of  Hannah,  the  help. 
Jim  1  She  would  go  to  Jim.  She  would  see  that  small  boy  of  sixty, 
and  ask  his  advice.  And  she  did.  She  walked  over  to  the  stable 
in  the  evening,  while  her  brother  was  making  his  toilet  for  the  cus 
tomary  visit  to  the  Mewkery,  and,  without  beating  around  the  bush 
at  all,  reached  the  point  at  once.  "Jim,"  said  she,  "the  Captain  is 
getting  too  thick  with  the  Mewkers,  and  we  must  put  a  stop  to  it. 
How  is  that  to  be  done  1" 

Jim  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  held  up  his  forefinger.  "  I 
know  one  way  to  stop  him  a-goin'  there ;  and,  if  you  say  so,  Miss 
Augusta,  then  old  Jim  is  the  boy  to  do  it." 

Augusta  assented  in  a  grand,  old,  towering  nod.  Jim,  with  a  mere 
motion  of  his  forefinger,  seemed  to  reiterate,  "  If  you  say  so,  I  '11 
do  it." 

"Yes." 

"Then,  by  Golly!"  responded  Jim  joyfully,  "arter  this  night 
he  '11  never  go  there  ag'in." 

Augusta  walked  toward  the  house  with  a  smile,  and  Jim  proceeded 
to  embellish  Shatter. 

By-and-by  the  Captain  drove  off  in  the  wagon,  and  old  Jim 
busied  himself  with  Spectator,  fitting  a  mouldy  saddle  on  his  back, 
and  getting  him  ready  for  action. 


176  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

There  was  a  thin  cloud,  like  lace,  over  the  moon  that  night ;  just 
enough  to  make  objects  painfully  distinct,  as  Captain  Belgrave  turned 
out  from  Mewker's  gate,  and  took  the  high  road  toward  home.  He 
jogged  along,  however,  quite  comfortably,  and  had  just  reached  the 
end  of  Mewker's  fence,  when  he  saw  a  figure  on  horseback,  emerging 
from  the  little  lane  that  ran  down  behind  the  garden  to  the  pond  at 
the  back  of  the  house.  The  apparition  had  a  sort  of  red  cape  around 
its  shoulders ;  a  soldier-cap,  with  a  tall  plume,  (very  like  the  one  the 
Captain  used  to  wear  on  parade,)  was  upon  its  head ;  in  its  hand  was 
a  long,  formidable-looking  staff;  and  the  horse  of  the  spectre  was 
enveloped  in  a  white  saddle-cloth,  that  hung  down  almost  to  the 
ground.  What  was  remarkable,  Old  Shatter,  as  if  possessed  with  the 
devil,  actually  drew  out  of  the  road  toward  the  stranger,  and  gave  a 
whinny,  which  was  instantly  responded  to  in  the  most  frightful  tones 
by  the  horse  of  the  spectre.  Almost  paralyzed,  the  Captain  suffered 
the  apparition  to  approach  him.  What  a  face  it  had  !  Long  masses 
of  hair,  like  tow,  waved  around  features  that  seemed  to  have  neither 
shape  nor  color.  Its  face  seemed  like  a  face  of  brown  paper,  so  form 
less  and  flat  was  it,  with  great  hideous  eyes  and  a  mouth  of  intolera 
ble  width.  As  it  approached,  the  figure  seemed  to  have  a  convul 
sion  —  it  rolled  so  in  the  saddle ;  but,  recovering,  it  drew  up  beside 
the  shaft,  and,  whirling  its  long  staff,  brought  such  a  whack  upon  Shat 
ter's  flank,  that  the  old  horse  almost  jumped  out  of  his  harness. 
Away  went  the  wagon  and  the  Captain,  and  away  went  the  spectre 
close  behind ;  fences,  trees,  bushes,  dust,  whirled  in  and  out  of  sight ; 
bridges,  sedges,  trout-brooks,  mills,  willows,  copses,  plains,  in  moon 
light  and  shadow,  rolled  on  and  on ;  but  not  an  inch  was  lost  or  won ; 
there,  behind  the  wagon,  was  the  goblin  with  his  long  plume  bending, 
and  waving,  and  dancing,  and  his  staff  whirling  with  terrible  menaces. 
On,  and  on,  and  on,  and  ever  and  anon  the  goblin  steed  gave  one  of 
those  frightful  whinnies  that  seemed  to  tear  the  very  air  with  its  disson 
ance.  On,  and  on,  and  on  !  The  Captain  drove  with  his  head  turned 
back  over  his  shoulder,  but  Shat  knew  the  road.  On,  and  on,  and  on  ! 
A  thought  flashes  like  inspiration  through  the  mind  of  the  Captain, 
"  The  horse-pistol !"  It  is  under  the  cushions.  He  seizes  it  nervously, 
cocks  it,  and  —  bang !  goes  the  plume  of  the  goblin.  "  By  gosh  !"  said 


CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE.  177 

a  voice  under  the  soldier-cap,  "  I  did  n't  cal'late  on  that ;"  and  then, 
"  I  vum  ef  old  Shat  haint  run  away !"  Sure  enough,  Shatto  has  run 
away ;  the  wagon  is  out  of  sight  in  a  turn  of  the  road ;  the  next 
instant,  it  brings  up  against  a  post ;  off  goes  Shat,  with  shafts  and 
dislocated  fore-wheels ;  and  old  Jim  soon  after  finds  the  remains  of 
the  wagon,  and  the  senseless  body  of  his  master,  in  a  ditch,  under 
the  moon,  and  a  willow.  To  take  the  red  blanket  from  his  shoulders, 
which  he  had  worn  like  a  Mexican  poncho  by  putting  his  head  through 
a  hole  in  the  middle,  is  done  in  an  instant ;  and  then,  with  big  tears 
rolling  down  his  cheeks,  the  old  boy  brings  water  from  a  spring,  in 
the  crown  of  the  soldier-cap,  to  bathe  the  face  of  the  Captain.  The 
report  of  the  pistol  has  alarmed  a  neighbor ;  and  the  two,  with  the 
assistance  of  the  hind-wheels  and  the  body  of  the  wagon,  carry  poor 
Belgrave  through  the  moon-lit  streets  of  Little-Crampton,  to  the 
Oakery. 

When  the  Captain  opened  his  eye,  (for  the  other  was  under  the 
tuition  of  a  large  patch  of  brown  paper,  steeped  in  vinegar,)  he  found 
himself  safe  at  home,  surrounded  and  fortified,  as  usual,  by  Augusta, 
Adolphus,  Hannah,  the  help,  and  Jim,  in  picturesque  attitudes.  How 
he  came  there,  was  a  mystery.  Stay ;  he  begins  to  take  up  the 
thread :  Mewkers,  fence,  the  figure,  the  race  for  life,  and  the  pistol ! 
What  else  1  Nothing  —  blank  —  oblivion.  So  he  falls  into  a  tranquil 
state  of  comfort,  and  feels  that  he  does  not  care  about  it.  No  getting 
up  that  steep  ladder  to-night !  Never  mind.  It  is  a  labor  to  think, 
so  he  relapses  into  thoughtlessness,  and  finally  falls  asleep.  There 
was  a  stranger  in  the  room  behind  the  bed's  head,  a  tall,  astringent- 
looking  man,  Dr.  Butternuts,  by  whom  the  Captain  had  been  let 
blood.  If  Belgrave  had  seen  him,  he  would  have  fainted.  "  No  inju 
ries  of  any  consequence,"  says  the  doctor,  departing  and  waving  his 
brown  hand.  "  Terribly  skart,  though,"  Augusta  responds  in  a  whis 
per.  "  Yes,  he  will  get  over  that ;  to-morrow  he  will  be  better ;" 
and  the  doctor  waves  himself  out.  Adolphus  retires,  and  then  Han 
nah,  the  help;  but  Augusta  and  Jim  watch  by  the  bedside  until 
morning.  The  Captain,  every  now  and  then,  among  the  snowy  sheets 
and  coverlet,  turns  up  a  side  of  face  that  looks  like  a  large,  purple 

egg-plant,  at  which  Jim  sighs  heavily ;  but  Augusta  whispers  sooth- 

12 


178  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

ingly,  "Never  mind,  Jim,  it  's  for  his  good;  I  'm  glad  you  skart 
him ;  you  skart  him  a  Icetle  too  much  this  time,  that 's  all ;  next  time 
you  '11  be  more  careful,  wo  n't  you,  and  not  skear  him  so  bad  ]" 

That  Captain  Belgrave  had  been  thrown  from  his  wagon,  and 
badly  hurt,  was  known  all  over  Little-Crampton,  next  morning. 
Some  said  he  had  been  shot  at  by  a  highwayman ;  some,  he  had  shot 
at  a  highwayman.  The  story  took  a  hundred  shapes,  and  finally  was 
rolled  up  at  the  door  of  the  Rev.  Melchior  Spat,  who  at  once  took 
his  wagon,  and  drove  off  to  the  Mewkery.  There  the  rumor  was 
unfolded  to  Mr.  Mewker,  who,  enjoying  it  immensely,  made  so  many 
funny  remarks  thereon,  that  the  Rev.  Melchior  Spat  was  convulsed 
with  laughter,  and  then  the  two  drove  down  to  the  Oakery  to  condole 
with  the  sufferer.  On  the  way  there,  the  Rev.  Melchior  was  so  won 
derfully  facetious,  that  Mewker,  who  never  enjoyed  any  person's 
jokes  but  his  own,  was  actually  stimulated  into  mirth,  and  had  it  not 
been  for  happily  catching  a  distant  sight  of  the  tower,  would  have  so 
forgotten  himself  as  to  drive  up  to  the  door  with  a  pleasant  expres 
sion  of  countenance.  As  it  was,  they  both  entered  grave  as  owls,  and 
inquired,  in  faint  and  broken  voices,  how  the  Captain  was,  and  whe 
ther  he  was  able  to  see  friends.  Augusta,  who  received  them,  led 
them  up  to  the  room,  where  the  Captain,  with  his  face  like  the  globe 
in  the  equinox,  sitting  propped  up  in  bed,  shook  both  feebly  by  the 
hands,  and  then  the  Rev.  Melchior  proposed  prayer,  to  which  Mew 
ker  promptly  responded  by  dropping  on  his  knees,  and  burying  his 
face  in  the  bottom  of  an  easy  chair.  This  was  a  signal  for  Adolphus 
to  do  likewise ;  and  the  Captain,  not  to  be  behind,  struggling  up  into  a 
sitting  posture,  leaned  forward  in  the  middle  of  the  coverlet,  with  his 
toes  and  the  end  of  his  shirt  deployed  upon  the  pillows.  Then  the 
Rev.  Melchior,  in  a  crying  voice,  proceeded  according  to  the  homoeo 
pathic  practice  —  that  is,  making  it  short  and  sweet  as  possible  — 
touching  upon  the  excellent  qualities  of  the  sufferer,  the  distress  of 
his  beloved  friends,  and  especially  of  the  anxiety  which  would  be 
awakened  in  the  bosom  of  one  now  absent,  "  whose  heart  was  only  the 
heart  of  a  woman,  a  heart  not  strong  and  able  to  bear  up  against 
calamity,  but  weak,  and  fragile,  and  loving,  and  pitiful,  and  tender ; 
a  heart  that  was  so  weak,  and  loving,  and  pitiful,  and  tender,  and 


CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE.  179 

fragile,  that  it  could  not  bear  up  against  calamity ;  no,  it  could  not ; 
no,  it  could  not ;  it  was  weak,  it  was  pitiful,  it  was  loving,  it  was  ten 
der,  it  was  fragile  like  a  flower,  and  against  calamity  it  could  not 
bear  up." 

So  great  was  the  effect  of  the  Rev.  Melchior  Spat's  eloquence,  that 
the  Captain  fairly  cried,  so  as  to  leave  a  round  wet  spot  in  the  middle 
of  the  coverlet,  and  Mr.  Mewker  wiped  his  eyes  frequently  with  his 
handkerchief,  as  he  rose  from  the  chair.  And  although  the  voice  of 
the  Reverend  Melchior  had  been  heard  distinctly,  word  for  word,  by 
Jim,  in  the  far-off  stable,  yet  it  sank  to  the  faintest  whisper  when  he 
proceeded  to  inquire  of  the  Captain  how  he  felt,  and  what  was  this 
dreadful  story.  And  then  the  Captain,  in  a  voice  still  fainter,  told 
how  he  was  attacked  by  a  man  of  immense  size,  mounted  on  a  horse 
of  proportionate  dimensions,  and  how  he  had  defended  himself,  and 
did  battle  bravely  until,  in  the  fight,  "  Shatto  got  skeared,  and  overset 
the  wagon,  and  then  the  man  got  onto  him,  and  pounded  the  life  out 
of  him,  while  he  was  entangled  with  reins."  Then  Mr.  Mewker  and 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Spat  took  leave  with  sorrowful  faces,  and  as  they  drove 
home  again,  renewed  the  jocularity  which  had  been  interrupted  some 
what  by  the  visit  to  the  Oakery. 

To  say  that  Mr.  Mewker  neglected  his  friend,  the  Captain,  during 
his  misfortunes,  would  be  doing  a  great  injustice  to  that  excellent 
man.  Every  day  he  was  at  the  Oakery,  to  inquire  after  his  health ; 
and  rarely  did  he  come  without  some  little  present,  a  pot  of  sweet 
meats,  a  bouquet,  or  something  of  the  kind,  from  the  lovely  Lasciver. 
How  good  it  was  of  him  to  buy  jelly  at  two  shillings  a  pound  at  the 
store,  and  bring  it  to  the  Captain,  saying,  "  This  little  offering  is  from 
Harriet,  who  thought  some  delicacy  of  the  kind  would  be  good  for 
you."  Was  it  not  disinterested  ?  Hiding  his  own  modest  virtues  in 
a  pot  of  jelly,  and  presenting  it  in  the  name  of  another !  The  truth 
is,  Mewker's  superior  tactics  were  too  profound  for  Augusta  to  con 
tend  against ;  she  felt,  as  it  were,  the  sand  sliding  from  under  her 
feet.  Nor  was  Mewker  without  a  powerful  auxiliary  in  the  Reverend 
Melchior  Spat,  who,  by  his  prerogative,  had  free  access  to  the  house 
at  all  times,  and  made  the  most  of  it,  too.  Skillfully  turning  to  com 
mon  topics  when  Augusta  was  present,  and  as  skillfully  returning  to 


180  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

the  old  subject  when  she  retired,  he  animated  the  Captain  with  such 
desire  for  the  lovely  widow,  that,  had  it  not  been  for  his  black  eye,  he 
would  assuredly  have  gone  off  and  proposed  on  the  spot.  This  feel 
ing,  however,  subsided  when  the  Eev.  Melchior  was  gone ;  the  Cap 
tain  did  not  think  of  marrying ;  he  was  a  true  old  bachelor,  contented 
with  his  lot,  and  not  disposed  to  change  it  even  for  a  better ;  beside, 
he  was  timid. 

At  last  our  hero  was  able  once  more  to  go  about,  and  Jim  drove 
him  down  slowly  to  the  Mewkery.  Such  a  noise  as  Bose  made  when 
he  saw  the  carriage  approaching !  But  there  was  no  present  from  the 
hand  of  his  friend  this  time ;  so  Bose  contented  himself  with  growling 
and  snapping  angrily  at  his  own  tail,  which  was  not  longer  than  half  a 
cucumber.  What  a  blush  spread  over  the  face  of  the  Captain  when 
he  saw  the  widow,  all  dimples  and  dimity,  advancing  to  meet  him  in 
the  familiar  back-parlor !  How  the  sweet  roses  breathed  through  the 
shaded  blinds  as  he  breathed  out  his  thanks  to  the  widow  for  many 
precious  favors  during  his  confinement.  They  were  alone ;  the  Cap 
tain  sat  beside  her  on  the  sofa ;  one  of  her  round,  plump,  white,  dim 
pled  hands  was  not  far  from  him,  resting  upon  the  black  hair-cloth  of 
the  sofa  bottom.  He  looked  right  and  left ;  there  was  no  one  near ; 
so  he  took  the  hand  respectfully,  and  raised  it  to  his  lips,  intending  to 
replace  it,  of  course.  To  his  dismay,  she  uttered  a  tender  "  O  !"  and 
leaned  her  head  upon  his  shoulder.  What  to  do,  he  did  not  know ; 
but  he  put  his  arm  around  her  bewitching  waist,  to  support  her.  Her 
eyes  were  closed,  and  the  long,  radiant  lashes  heightened,  by  contrast, 
the  delicious  color  that  bloomed  in  her  cheeks.  The  Captain  looked 
right  and  left  again ;  no  one  was  near ;  if  he  could  venture  to  kiss 
her!  He  had  never  kissed  a  pretty  woman  in  all  his  life!  The 
desire  to  do  so  increased;  it  seemed  to  grow  upon  him,  in  fact; 
drawn  toward  her  by  an  influence  he  could  not  resist,  he  leaned 
over  and  touched  those  beautiful  lips,  and  then  —  in  walked  Mr. 
Mewker. 

Had  Mewker  not  been  a  genius,  he  might  have  compromised 
every  thing  by  still  playing  the  humble,  deferential,  conscientious 
part ;  but  hypocrisy  on  a  low  key  was  not  his  cue  now ;  he  knew  his 
man  too  well  for  that,  and  besides,  familiar  as  this  branch  of  art  had 


CAPTAIN   BELGRAVE.  181 

been,  there  was  another  still  more  natural  to  him ;  he  was  wonderful 
in  the  sycophant,  but  matchless  in  the  bully !  Those  little,  weak, 
bladdery  eyes  seemed  almost  to  distil  venom,  as  wrapping  his  knobby 
arms  in  a  knot,  he  strode  up  to  the  astonished  Belgrave,  and  asked  him 
"  how  he  dared  invade  the  privacy  of  his  house,  the  home  of  his  wife 
and  children,  and  the  sanctuary  of  his  sister  1  How  he  dared  trespass 
upon  the  hospitality  that  had  been  extended  toward,  nay,  that  had 
been  lavished  upon  him  1  Was  not  the  respectability  of  the  Mewker 
family,  a  family  related  to  the  wealthy  Balgangles  of  Little-Cramp- 
ton,  and  connected  by  marriage  with  the  Shellbarques  of  Boston,  a 
sufficient  protection  against  his  nefarious  designs  ?  And  did  he  under 
take,  under  the  mask  of  friendship,"  and  Mewker  drew  up  his  fore 
head  into  a  complication  of  lines  like  an  indignant  web,  "  to  come, 
as  a  hypocrite,  a  member  of  the  church  (O  Mewker!)  with  the 
covert  intention  of  destroying  the  peace  and  happiness  of  his  only 
sister1?" 

Belgrave  was  a  man  who  never  swore ;  but  on  this  occasion  he 
uttered  an  exclamation:  "My  grief!"  said  he,  "I  never  had  no  such 
idee." 

"  What,  then,  are  your  intentions  ?"  said  Mewker,  fiercely. 

"  T  make  it  all  straight,"  replied  the  Captain. 

"How?" 

Belgrave  paused,  and  Mewker  shuffled  rapidly  to  and  fro,  mutter 
ing  to  himself.  At  last  he  broke  out  again : 

"How,  I  say?" 

"  On  that  p'int  I  'm  codjitatin'." 

"Do  —  you  —  mean — "  said  Mewker,  with  a  remarkable  smile, 
placing  his  hand  calmly  on  the  Captain's  shoulder,  "to  —  trifle  — 
with  —  me?" 

"  No,"  replied  poor  Belgrave,  surrendering  up,  as  it  were,  what 
was  left  of  him ;  "  I  'm  ready  to  be  married,  if  that  will  make  it  all 
straight,  provided,"  he  added  with  natural  courtesy,  turning  to  the 
lovely  widow,  "  provided  this  lady  does  not  think  me  unworthy  of 
her." 

Mewker  drew  forth  a  tolerably  clean  handkerchief,  and  applied  it 
to  his  eyes:  a  white  handkerchief  held  to  the  eyes  of  a  figure  in 


182  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

threadbare  black  is  very  effective.  The  lovely  Lasciver  remained 
entirely  passive ;  such  is  discipline. 

Here,  at  last,  was  an  opportunity  to  beat  a  retreat.  The  Captain 
rose,  and  shaking  Mewker's  unemployed  hand,  which,  he  said  after 
ward,  "  felt  like  a  bunch  of  radishes,"  left  the  room  without  so  much 
as  a  word  to  the  future  Mrs.  Belgrave.  So  soon  as  the  door  closed 
upon  him,  Mr.  Mewker  raised  his  eyes  from  the  handkerchief,  and 
smiled  sweetly  upon  his  sister.  The  thing  is  accomplished. 

As  some  old  bear,  who  had  enjoyed  freedom  from  cubhood,  feels, 
at  the  bottom  of  a  pit  dug  by  the  skillful  hunter,  so  feels  Captain  Bel- 
grave,  as  he  rides  home  sorrowfully.  His  citadel,  after  all,  is  not  a 
protection.  Into  its  penetralia  a  subtle  spirit  has  at  last  found 
entrance.  The  air  grows  closer  and  heavier  around  him,  the  shadows 
broader,  the  bridges  less  secure,  the  trout-brooks  blacker  and  deeper. 
How  shall  he  break  the  matter  to  Augusta  1  "  No  hurry,  though ; 
the  day  has  n't  been  app'inted  yit ;"  and  at  this  suggestion  the  clouds 
begin  to  break  and  lighten.  Then  he  sees  Mewker,  threadbare  and 
vindictive ;  his  sky  again  is  overcast,  but  filaments  of  light  stream 
through  as  he  conjures  up  the  image  of  the  lovely  widow,  the  dimpled 
hand,  the  closed  eyes,  the  long  radiate  lashes,  cheeks,  lips,  and  the 
temptation  which  had  so  unexpected  a  conclusion.  Home  at  last; 
and,  with  some  complaint  of  fatigue,  the  Captain  retires  to  his  high 
tower  to  ruminate  over  the  past  and  the  future. 

The  future !  yes,  the  future !  A  long  perspective  stretched  before 
his  eyes ;  and,  at  the  end  of  the  vista,  was  a  bride  in  white,  and  a 
wedding.  It  would  take  some  months  to  gradually  break  the  subject 
to  his  sister.  Then  temperately  and  moderately,  the  courtship  would 
go  on,  year  by  year,  waxing  by  degrees  to  the  end. 

Mr.  Mewker  altered  the  focus  of  Belgrave's  optics  next  morning, 
by  a  short  note,  in  which  he  himself  fixed  the  wedding-day  at  two  weeks 
from  the  Captain's  declarations  of  intentions.  This  intelligence  confined 
the  Captain  two  days  in  the  tower,  "  codjitating,"  during  which  time 
every  body  in  Little-Crampton  was  informed  that  Widow  Lasciver 
and  he  were  engaged  to  be  married.  The  news  came  from  the  best 
authority  —  the  Eev.  Melchior  Spat.  On  the  evening  of  the  second 
day,  a  pair  of  lead-colored  stockings,  a  fustian  petticoat,  a  drab  short- 


CAPTAIN   BELGRAVE.  183 

gown,  and  a  bright  bunch  of  keys,  descended  the  steep  step-ladder 
from  the  trap  in  the  tower,  and  walked  into  the  room  adjoining. 
Then  two  hands  commenced  wringing  themselves,  by  which  we  may 
understand  that  Augusta  was  in  great  tribulation.  The  rumor,  rife  in 
Little-Crampton,  had  reached  her  ears,  and  her  brother  had  confirmed 
its  truth.  The  very  means  employed  to  keep  him  out  of  danger  had 
only  assisted  the  other  party  to  carry  him  off.  This  should  be  a 
warning  to  those  who  interfere  with  affairs  of  the  heart.  But  what 
was  her  own  future  ?  Certainly  her  reign  was  at  an  end ;  a  new 
queen-bee  was  to  take  possession  of  the  hive ;  and  then  —  what  then  ? 
kings  and  kaisers,  even,  are  not  free  from  the  exquisite  anguish 
which,  in  that  hour,  oppressed  the  heart  of  Augusta  Belgrave.  It  was 
but  a  step ;  but  what  a  step  ?  from  mistress  to  menial,  from  ruler  to 
subordinate.  She  knelt  down  heavily  by  the  bedside,  and  there 
prayed ;  but  —  oh !  the  goodness  of  woman's  heart !  —  it  was  a  prayer, 
earnest,  sincere,  truthful,  and  humble ;  not  for  herself,  but  for  her 
brothers.  Then  her  heart  was  lightened  and  strengthened ;  and  as  she 
rose,  she  smiled  with  a  bitter  sweetness,  that,  considering  every  thing, 
was  beautiful. 

Great  preparations  now  in  Little-Crampton  for  the  wedding.  In 
vitations  were  out,  and  needles,  scissors,  flowers,  laces,  ribbons,  and 
mantua-makers  at  a  premium.  The  Captain  took  heart  of  grace,  and 
called  upon  his  lovely  bride,  but  always  managed  to  get  past  that 
lane  before  night-fall.  Hood  &  Wessup,  the  fashionable  tailors  of 
Little-Crampton,  were  suborned  to  lay  themselves  out  night  and  day 
upon  his  wedding-suit.  He  had  set  his  heart  upon  having  Adolphus 
dressed  precisely  like  himself  on  the  occasion.  Two  brothers 
dressed  alike,  groom  and  groomsman,  look  remarkably  well  at  a 
wedding.  But  to  his  surprise,  Adolphus  refused  to  be  dressed,  and 
would  not  go  to  the  wedding  —  "positively"  Neither  would  Augusta. 
Brother  and  sister  set  to  work  packing  up,  and  when  the  expected 
night  arrived  there  was  all  their  little  stock  in  two,  blue,  wooden 
trunks,  locked,  and  corded,  and  ready  for  moving,  in  the  hall  of  the 
Oakery. 

It  was  a  gloomy  night  outside  and  in,  for  the  rain  had  been  falling 
all  day,  and  a  cold  rain-storm  in  summer  is  dreary  enough.  But 


184  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

cheerful  bars  of  light  streamed  across  the  darkness  from  the  tower 
windows,  lighting  up  a  green  strip  on  a  tree  here  and  there,  a  picket 
or  two  in  the  fence,  and  banding  with  an  illuminated  ribbon  the  side 
and  roof  of  the  dripping  barn.  The  Captain  was  making  his  toilet. 
White  ruffled  shirt,  with  a  black  mourning  pin  containing  a  lock  of 
his  mother's  hair ;  white  marseilles  waistcoat,  set  off  with  an  inner 
vest  of  blue  satin,  (suggested  by  Hood  &  Wessup ;)  trowsers  of 
bright  mustard  color,  fitting  as  tight  as  if  his  legs  had  been  melted 
and  poured  into  them ;  blue  coat,  cut  brass  buttons,  end  of  handker- 
cher'  sticking  out  of  the  pocket  behind ;  black  silk  stockings  and 
pumps ;  red  check-silk  neck-cloth,  and  flying-jib  collars.  Down  he 
came,  and  there  sat  brother  and  sister  on  their  corded  trunks  in  the 
hall,  portentous  as  the  Egyptian  statues  that  overlook  the  Nile  from 
their  high  stone  chairs.  Not  a  word  was  said;  but  the  Captain 
opened  the  door  and  looked  out.  "  Why,  it  rains  like  fury.  Jim !" 

Jim,  who  was  unseen  in  the  darkness,  and  yet  within  three  feet 
of  the  door,  answered  cheerily,  "  Aye,  aye,  Sir !'" 

"  All  ready,  Jim  ]" 

"All  ready,  Capt'in." 

"  Wait  till  I  get  my  cloak  ;"  and  as  the  Captain  wrapped  himself 
up,  his  sister  silently  and  carefully  assisted  him ;  not  on  account 
of  his  plumage,  but  to  keep  him  from  catching  cold. 

Off  goes  Shatter,  Jim,  and  the  Captain ;  off  through  the  whistling 
rain  and  the  darkness.  The  mud  whirled  up  from  the  wheels  and 
covered  the  cloak  of  the  bridegroom,  so  he  told  Jim  "  to  drive  keer- 
ful,  as  he  wanted  to  keep  nice."  It  was  a  long  and  dreary  road,  but 
at  last  they  saw  the  bright  lights  from  Mewker's  windows,  and  with 
a  palpitating  heart  the  Captain  alighted  at  the  porch. 

Old  Bose,  who  had  been  scouring  the  grounds  and  barking  at 
every  guest,  started  up  with  a  fearful  growl,  but  the  Captain  threw 
off  his  travel-stained  cloak,  and  exhibited  himself  to  the  old  dog  in 
all  his  glory.  The  instant  Bose  recognized  his  friend  and  benefactor 
he  leaped  upon  him  with  such  a  multitude  of  caresses  that  the  white 
marseilles  vest  and  mustard-colored  trowsers  were  covered  with 
proofs  of  his  fidelity  and  attachment,  "  Hey,  there !  hey !  down, 
Bose !"  said  Mewker  at  the  door :  "  Why,  my  dear  brother  !" 


CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE.  185 

The  Captain,  with  great  gravity,  was  snapping  with  his  thumb  and 
finger  the  superfluous  mud  with  which  Bose  had  embellished  his 
trowsers. 

"  Come  in  here,"  said  Mewker,  chuckling  and  scratching  his  chin. 
''  I  '11  get  you  a  brush.  No  hurry.  Time  enough  before  the  cere 
mony." 

The  Captain  walked  after  him  through  the  hall,  and  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  parlors,  radiant  with  wax-lights,  and  crowded  with 
such  a  display  of  company  as  was  rarely  seen  in  Little-Crampton. 

"  Come  in  here,"  said  Mewker,'  still  chuckling,  as  he  opened  the 
door.  "  This  is  your  room ;"  and  he  winked,  and  gave  the  bride 
groom  such  a  nudge  with  his  knobby  elbow  as  almost  tumbled  him 
over  the  bed.  "Your  room  —  understand?  The  bridal-chamber! 
Wait  here,  now ;  wait  here  till  I  get  a  brush." 

The  Captain,  left  alone,  surveyed  the  apartment.  The  pillow 
cases  were  heavy  with  lace.  Little  tasteful  vases  filled  with  flowers, 
made  the  air  drunk  with  fragrance ;  a  white,  worked  pin-cushion  was 
on  the  bureau,  before  an  oval  glass,  with  his  own  name  wrought  there 
on  in  pin's  heads.  The  astral  lamp  on  the  mantel  shed  a  subdued  and 
chastened  light  over  the  whole.  Long  windows  reached  to  the  floor, 
and  opened  on  the  piazza;  light  Venitian  blinds  were  outside  the 
sashes,  without  other  fastenings  that  a  latch.  The  Captain  tried  the 
windows,  and  they  opened  with  a  touch  of  his  thumb  and  fore-finger. 
He  had  not  slept  in  so  insecure  a  place  for  more  than  twenty  years. 
Then  he  thought  of  the  phantom  horseman,  and  the  deep  pond  behind 
the  house.  He  shivered  a  little,  either  from  cold  or  timidity.  The 
window  was  partially  raised,  so  he  throws  it  up  softly,  touches  the 
latch ;  the  blinds  are  open ;  he  walks  out  on  the  piazza,  and  then 
covertly  steals  around  to  the  front  of  the  house,  where  he  finds 
Shatter  and  the  wagon,  with  old  Jim  peering  through  the  blinds  to 
see  the  wedding  come  off. 

"  Jim,"  he  says,  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  "  take  me  hum.  I  aint  a-goin' 
to  sleep  in  such  a  room  as  that,  no  how." 

The  old  boy  quietly  unbuckled  the  hitching-strap,  and  when 
Mewker  got  back  with  the  brush,  Shatter  was  flying  through  the  mud 
toward  the  Oakery,  at  a  three-minute  gait.  Two  or  three  quick 


186  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

knocks  at  his  own  door,  and  it  is  opened  by  Augusta,  who,  with  her 
brother,  had  kept  watch  and  ward  on  their  corded  trunks.  The  Cap 
tain  took  the  candle  from  the  table,  without  saying  a  word,  ascended 
the  stairs,  passed  through  scarp,  counterscarp,  glacis,  and  ditch, 
mounted  his  ladder,  drew  it  up  after  him  bolted  the  trap  in  the 
floor,  and  cocked  his  pistol. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  let  'em  come  on !     They  'aint  got  me  married 
this  time  any  how  !" 


/ 


T  .       FIELD 


THE  warm,  wide  hills  are  muffled  thick  with  green, 
And  fluttering  swallows  fill  the  air  with  song. 
Come  to  our  cottage-home.  .  .  Lowly  it  stands, 
Set  in  a  vale  of  flowers,  deep  fringed  with  grass. 
The  sweet-brier  (noiseless  herald  of  the  place) 
Flies  with  its  odor,  meeting  all  who  roam 
With  welcome  footsteps  to  our  small  abode. 
No  splendid  cares  live  here  —  no  barren  shows. 
The  bee  makes  harbor  at  our  perfumed  door, 
And  hums  all  day  his  breezy  note  of  joy. 
Come,  0  my  friend !  and  share  our  festal  month, 
And  while  the  west  wind  walks  the  leafy  woods, 
While  orchard-blooms  are  white  in  all  the  lanes, 
And  brooks  make  music  in  the  deep,  cool  dells, 
Enjoy  the  golden  moments  as  they  pass, 
And  gain  new  strength  for  days  that  are  to  come. 


£ny.  fy>  W.  ff.  Jar-leu 


-  Duobai-. 


0f  C|rist0j}btr  (Mies, 


BY      JOHN      W.     FRANCIS. 


How  precious  a  boon  is  memory  ;  how  prolific  of  disquisition  in 
the  writings  of  the  psychologist;  how  rich  in  associations  when 
treated  by  the  poet ;  how  full  of  pleasures  and  of  pains  in  him  who 
has  cherished  this  function  of  the  mind  by  a  proper  observance  of  the 
laws  of  organic  health,  without  which  soundness  of  intellect  is  im 
paired,  and  our  mental  impressions  resolved  in  a  state  of  cloudiness, 
or  lost  in  oblivion.  As  this  great  quality  of  the  mind  furnishes  our 
most  accurate  knowledge ;  as  by  it  we  retain  our  power  of  recall 
ing  the  various  and  numerous  incidents  of  by-gone  days,  it  summons 
our  associations,  as  the  occasion  may  demand,  and  yields  gratification 
or  suffering,  according  as  life  has  been  appropriated  in  furtherance  of 
the  proper  destiny  of  our  race.  As  retrospective  reflections  possess 
within  themselves  a  permanence  of  impression  denied  to  prospective 
views,  and  as  time  seems  gradually  to  absorb  the  intensity  of  painful 
associations,  the  poet  Eogers  inculcates  the  belief,  that  as  we  advance 
in  existence,  past  associations  become  less  and  less  blended  with 
sorrows,  and  unmixed  gratification  crowns  the  issue.  It  were  well, 
indeed,  could  we  be  entirely  confident  of  the  truth  of  this  theory  of 
the  mind.  We  must,  however,  leave  it  to  the  school-men  to  descant 
on,  and  to  old  heads  to  enjoy  the  fruition. 

He  who  has  passed  a  period  of  some  three-score  years  and 
upward,  some  faithful  Knickerbocker,  for  instance,  native  born,  and 
ever  a  resident  among  us,  whose  tenacious  memory  enables  him  to 
meditate  upon  the  thirty  thousand  inhabitants  at  the  time  of  his  birth 
with  the  almost  oppressive  population  of  some  seven  hundred  thou 
sand  which  the  city  at  present  contains  ;  who  contrasts  the  cheap  and 


190  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

humble  dwellings  of  that  earlier  date  with  the  costly  and  magnificent 
edifices  which  now  beautify  the  metropolis ;  who  studies  the  sluggish 
state  of  the  mechanic  arts  at  the  dawn  of  the  Republic,  and  the 
mighty  demonstrations  of  skill  which  our  Fulton,  and  our  Stevens, 
our  Douglass,  our  Hoe,  our  Morse,  have  produced ;  who  remembers 
the  few  and  humble  water-craft  conveyances  of  days  past,  and  now 
beholds  the  majestic  leviathans  of  the  ocean  which  crowd  our  har 
bors  ;  who  contemplates  the  partial  and  trifling  commercial  transac 
tions  of  the  Confederacy  with  the  countless  millions  of  commercial 
business  which  engross  the  people  of  the  present  day  in  our  Union ; 
who  estimates  the  offspring  of  the  press,  and  the  achievements  of  the 
telegraph ;  he  who  has  been  the  spectator  of  all  this  may  be  justly 
said  to  have  lived  the  period  of  many  generations,  and  to  have  stored 
within  his  reminiscences  the  progress  of  an  era  the  most  remarkable 
in  the  history  of  his  species. 

If  he  awakens  his  attention  to  a  consideration  of  the  progress  of 
intellectual  and  ethical  pursuits,  if  he  advert  to  the  prolific  demon 
strations  which  surround  him  for  the  advancement  of  knowledge, 
literary  and  scientific,  moral  and  religious,  the  indomitable  spirit 
of  the  times  strikes  him  with  more  than  logical  conviction.  The 
beneficence  and  humanity  of  his  countrymen  may  be  pointed  out  by 
contemplating  her  noble  free  schools,  her  vast  hospitals  and  asylums 
for  the  alleviation  of  physical  distress  and  mental  infirmities ;  with 
the  reflection  that  all  these  are  the  triumphs  of  a  self-governed  people, 
accomplished  within  the  limited  memory  of  an  ordinary  life.  Should 
reading  enlarge  the  scope  of  his  knowledge,  let  him  study  the  times 
of  the  old  Dutch  governors,  when  the  Ogdens  erected  the  first  church 
in  the  fort  of  New- Amsterdam,  in  1642,  and  then  survey  the  vast 
panoramic  view  around  him  of  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  and  more 
edifices  now  consecrated  to  the  solemnities  of  religious  devotion.  It 
imparts  gratification  to  know  that  the  old  Bible  which  was  used  in 
that  primary  church  of  Van  Twiller  is  still  preserved  by  a  descend 
ant  of  the  builder,  a  precious  relic  of  the  property  of  the  older 
period,  and  of  the  devotional  impulse  of  those  early  progenitors.* 

*  The  Bible,  that  is,  the  Holy  Scriptures  contained  in  the  Old  and  New  Testaments.  Quarto. 
Imprinted  at  London,  by  Eobert  Barker,  Printer  to  the  King,  1615,  followed  by  Sternhold  & 
Hopkins'  Psalms.  This  volume  is  now  in  the  possession  of  Dr.  Ogden,  of  New- York. 


REMINISCENCES    OF    CHRISTOPHER    COLLES.  191 

To  crown  the  whole,  time  in  its  course  has  recognized  the  supremacy 
of  political  and  religious  toleration,  and  established  constitutional 
freedom  on  the  basis  of  equal  rights  and  even  and  exact  justice  to  all 
men.  That  New- York  has  given  her  full  measure  of  toil,  expenditure, 
and  talent  in  furtherance  of  these  vast  results,  by  her  patriots  and 
statesmen,  is  proclaimed  in  grateful  accents  by  the  myriad  voice  of 
the  nation  at  large. 

But  however  gratifying  to  national  feeling  our  cogitations  on 
themes  of  this  nature  might  prove,  they  fall  not  within  the  scope 
of  our  present  intentions.  A  special  and  much  more  definite  object 
on  this  occasion  is  a  reference  to  individuality.  While  we  ponder  at 
our  leisure  on  those  great  issues  already  hinted  at,  we  feel  that 
specific  justice  has  not  been  awarded  to  individual  merit ;  and  that  in 
our  general  glorification  of  acts  and  principles,  we  have  proved 
laggard  in  our  encomiums  on  the  authors  and  the  actors  of  the  very 
deeds  which  invoke  our  panegyric.  The  most  amiable  tendency  of 
the  human  heart  is  the  intrinsic  appreciation  of  the  noble  spirits  of 
a  land,  whose  services  have  conferred  benefits  of  wide  and  lasting 
duration;  wisdom  no  less  than  gratitude  cherishes  their  memories, 
and  the  example  of  their  life  is  the  most  powerful  stimulus  to  future 
efforts  on  the  part  of  their  successors.  A  people  who  cherish  this 
reverence  must  naturally  possess  that  delicious  frame  of  'mind  whose 
most  effective  powers  are  manifested  in  the  results  of  a  philanthropic 
spirit,  and  whose  joys  are  most  in  harmony  with  the  diviner  essence 
of  our  nature. 

Duly  to  estimate  the  career  of  duty,  which  has  marked  the  lives 
of  the  men  who  thus  by  individual  or  confederated  toil  reared  up  the 
nation  to  a  commanding  and  an  exemplary  attitude,  it  becomes  obli 
gatory  on  us  to  scrutinize  in  distinctive  cases  the  circumstances  which 
checked  or  advanced  their  praiseworthy  impulses  for  the  public  weal. 
It  is  only  by  such  investigations  and  inquiries  that  we  become  proper 
umpires  of  their  merits,  can  truthfully  award  the  just  meed  of  praise, 
or  hold  in  reverence  their  claims  to  regard.  As  at  the  juridical 
tribunal  circumstantial  evidence  is  demanded,  in  order  to  arrive  at  a 
proper  conclusion  and  pronounce  an  honest  verdict  in  the  premises, 
so  in  the  various  occupations  and  transactions  of  men,  we  associate  the 


192  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

immediate  and  contingent  relationship  of  affairs  in  order  to  arrive  at 
just  conclusions. 

A  striking  example  to  illustrate  this  opinion  of  life  and  its  attsnd- 
ant  struggles  is  to  be  found  in  the  auto-biography  of  Franklin.  His 
honest  chronicle  of  all  his  thoughts  and  doings  enables  us  to 
recognize  his  extraordinary  intellect,  and  his  mighty  services  for  the 
age  in  which  he  flourished  and  for  all  posterity,  with  a  truthfulness 
we  could  never  otherwise  have  obtained ;  and  his  renown  is  only  ren 
dered  more  enduring  when  we  contemplate  the  extremes  of  his  exist 
ence — the  destitute  journeyman  printer,  and  the  noble  statesman  and 
philosopher :  the  self-taught  sage  is  vested  with  still  brighter  renown 
when  we  find  him  at  one  time  at  the  compositor's  case,  and,  after  suc 
cessive  changes,  in  the  parliamentary  arena,  convicting  the  haughty 
Wedderburn  of  ignorance  and  insolence,  to  the  admiration  of  a  whole 
senate,  and  the  approval  of  a  Burke  and  a  Priestley.  He  betrayed 
the  lofty  aspiration  of  his  nature,  when,  even  a  stripling  in  years,  he 
was  solicitous  of  being  introduced  to  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  the  philoso 
pher  whose  glories  his  own  were  destined  afterward  to  outshine. 
The  cognomen  of  the  penniless  youth  became  a  national  name  —  the 
appellation  of  the  land  of  his  birth  — and  American  citizen,  and  a 
countryman  of  Franklin,  were  synonymous  terms. 

Like  remarks,  and  of  a  like  tendency  might  be  made  in  the  case 
of  Fulton.  The  extraordinary  trials  of  his  early  life,  the  provoca 
tions  he  endured  for  years  in  his  investigations  and  experimental 
essays,  ere  he  accomplished  navigation  by  steam,  endear  the  man  to 
us  in  a  ten-fold  view.  I  had  the  honor  of  a  personal  acquaintance 
with  him.  His  liberal  nature,  his  frank  utterance,  his  ehivalric  bear 
ing,  all  pronounced  him  one  of  Nature's  noblest  gifts.  Neither  the 
jeers  of  the  vulgar  nor  the  scoffs  of  the  sciolist  ever  disturbed  his 
equanimity  or  lessened  the  confidence  he  cherished  in  the  ultimate 
results  of  his  bold  project.  After  his  successful  toils  on  the  Hudson, 
it  was  affirmed  it  would  be  impossible  to  navigate  in  the  East  River, 
or  cross  the  ferry  to  Brooklyn,  because  of  the  force  of  the  currents. 
The  folly  of  the  declaration  was  soon  demonstrated,  and  his  floating 
dock,  the  subject  of  laughter  by  the  unwise,  completed  the  work  he 
had  long  cogitated.  When,  soon  after  it  was  ascertained  that  this  last 


REMINISCENCES    OF    CHRISTOPHER    COLLES.  193 

labor  of  his  had  been  adopted  at  Liverpool,  and  elsewhere  abroad, 
the  skeptics  disappeared.  European  approval  had  been  secured,  and 
his  sagacity  and  talent  proclaimed  even  in  the  plaudits  of  his  own 
countrymen.  But  this  was  at  a  time  when  an  American  printed 
book  sold  best  with  the  imprint  of —  London :  John  Jones,  Piccadilly. 

If  we  view  the  early  life  of  Fulton,  and  hold  in  memory  his 
achievements  —  at  first  the  humble  watch-maker,  and  finally  the  man 
who,  by  his  individual  prowess,  changed  the  relationships  of  remotest 
people,  and  brought  the  old  and  the  new  worlds  as  neighbors 
together;  who,  with  pecuniary  resources  as  nothing,  save  in  the 
liberality  of  Chancellor  Livingston,  has  established  the  comity  of 
nations,  and  effected  an  annual  profit  to  his  country  of  more  than  one 
hundred  millions  of  dollars,  our  estimate  of  his  brilliant  career 
becomes  higher  and  higher  by  a  proper  study  of  his  biography. 
Golden  has  given  his  interesting  story,  and  Tuckerman,  in  his  Ameri 
can  Portraits,  has  drawn  him  to  the  life. 

Another  instance  may  be  cited  of  profitable  influence,  in  the  case 
of  De  Witt  Clinton.  We  need  not  advert  to  the  early  portions  of 
his  career.  He  was  always  a  student,  and  it  is  sufficiently  known  to 
all  that  he  identified  himself  with  the  great  interests  of  public  educa 
tion  and  humanity.  He  was  a  naturalist  of  no  mean  pretensions,  and 
mineralogy,  geology,  and  botany  were  the  pursuits  of  his  pastime. 
To  judge  of  his  merits  in  the  organization  of  the  canal  policy  of  the 
State  of  New- York,  it  behooves  the  inquirer  after  truth  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  financial  career  and  condition  of  the  State,  the 
history  of  its  political  leaders  and  factions,  the  force  of  public  opinion, 
the  persecuting  vindictiveness  of  party  strife,  and  the  poison  of  a 
hireling  press.  No  measure  of  such  magnitude  as  the  Erie  and  Hud 
son  Canal  was  ever  accomplished  under  such  disheartening  embarrass 
ments.  In  the  great  city  most  to  be  benefited  by  its  completion  the 
opposition  to  it  was  strongest ;  and  many  of  those  who  cherished 
feelings  favorable  to  the  undertaking  were  luke-warm  in  the  project : 
the  river  counties  were  to  be  ruined  by  it,  and  a  general  bankruptcy 
of  the  State  was  to  follow.  It  was  affirmed  that  it  was  premature  to 
be  involved  in  such  a  mighty  if  not  preposterous  work.  Clinton  had 

early  written  to  Jefferson  on  the  subject,  and  pointed  out  the  practica- 

13 


194  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

bility  and  advantages  of  the  design.  Mr.  Jefferson  writes  in  answer 
that  he  thinks  the  time  for  such  a  vast  work  too  early  by  a  century. 
Upon  its  completion,  Clinton  informs  him  that  all  doubts  of  the  prac 
ticability  of  the  measure  must  now  cease.  Jefferson,  in  reply,  con 
gratulates  him,  and  adds,  in  substance,  "  My  opinion  only  shows  that  I 
have  lived  one  hundred  years  too  soon."  The  indomitable  mind  of 
Clinton  rose  superior  to  all  obstacles.  Under  the  guidance  of  his 
counsels,  and  his  inflexible  perseverance,  the  mighty  undertaking  was 
brought  to  a  successful  issue.  His  eulogist,  Charles  King,  thus  elo 
quently  speaks  of  him  :  "In  the  great  work  of  internal  improvement 
he  persevered  through  good  report  and  through  evil  report  with  a 
steadiness  of  purpose  that  no  obstacle  could  divert ;  and  when  all  the 
elements  were  in  commotion  against  him,  and  even  his  chosen  asso 
ciates  were  appalled,  he  alone,  like  Columbus  on  the  wide  waste  of 
waters,  in  his  frail  bark,  with  a  disheartened  and  unbelieving  crew, 
remained  firm,  self-possessed,  and  unshaken." 

The  distinctive  merits  of  individuals,  such,  for  example,  as  those 
we  have  now  mentioned,  whose  renown  must  endure  for  ages,  are  only 
to  be  fittingly  awarded  by  thoroughly  understanding  the  circum 
stances  inherent  in  their  very  position  of  life,  their  habitat,  so  to  speak, 
in  the  language  of  botany,  when  discoursing  on  the  properties  of 
plants.  This  rule  observed,  how  preeminently  do  they  increase  in 
our  estimate  of  their  virtues,  emphatic  as  their  works  proclaim  their 
noble  powers!  Were  the  writers  of  American  biography  more 
attentive  to  considerations  of  this  kind ;  were  we  furnished  with  more 
of  what  is  termed  ana,  in  the  sketches  and  accounts  of  our  illustrious 
men ;  were  the  novelty  of  situation,  the  condition  of  a  new  people,  and 
that  pioneer  effort,  so  arduous,  yet  so  inseparable  from  our  country, 
dwelt  upon,  we  would  love  with  a  greater  devotion  the  character  of 
the  men  who  wrought  for  us  such  blessings,  while  our  patriotism  for 
the  land  of  our  birth,  and  the  heritage  bequeathed  us,  would  be 
cherished  with  a  loftier  estimate  of  their  intellectual  worth. 

A  glance  at  the  advanced  state  of  education  at  the  present  time, 
compared  with  that  of  a  former  period,  when  instruction  in  the  new 
republic  was  sparsely  provided,  when  competent  teachers  were  rarely 
found,  and  school  discipline  depended  upon  the  arbitrary  decision  of  a 


REMINISCENCES    OF    CHRISTOPHER    COLLES.  195 

vain-glorious  and  ignorant  pedagogue,  would  lessen  our  surprise  that 
so  few  well-armed  scholars  have  been  reared  among  us.  But  even 
this  state  of  education  has  not  wholly  suppressed  the  reputation  we 
may  claim  for  distinguished  examples  of  scholarship.  In  these  days, 
of  more  critical  acumen,  the  science  of  mind  seems  better  compre 
hended,  and  studies  apter  for  diversities  of  intellect,  are  selected  with 
better  judgment  and  urged  with  greater  fidelity.  I  tax  memory  for 
a  case  in  point  under  the  older  regime.  I  was  a  youngster  at  the 
same  school  in  New- York  with  Washington  Irving.  Every  thing,  I 
believe,  was  professed  to  be  taught  by  the  Principal.  I  remember 
how  rigid  was  his  law  in  enforcing  public  speaking ;  every  scholar 
was  assuredly  to  be  made  a  Cicero.  The  selections  assigned  to 
each  speaker  were  according  to  the  master's  deeper  knowledge  of 
the  temperament  and  physical  qualities  of  the  scholar.  "  Pity  the 
sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man !"  was  given  me.  To  young  Irving,  who 
had  the  advantage  of  more  years,  capacity,  and  strength,  was  assigned 
the  heroic  speech,  "  My  voice  is  still  for  war."  That  my  own  exhibi 
tion  was  a  sorry  affair  may  be  readily  admitted ;  but  what  are  we  to 
think  of  the  sedate,  the  peaceful  and  benignant  Irving,  whose  bellicose 
propensities  have  never  yet  been  developed,  and  whose  organ  of  com- 
bativeness  no  phrenologist  has  yet  discovered,  selected  to  appear 
before  a  large  assemblage  to  display  the  heroic  impulses  of  a  son  of 
Mars !  Time,  however,  has  proved  the  futility  of  the  instruction  and 
the  folly  of  the  instructor ;  and  Mr.  Irving,  while  he  smiles  in  secret 
at  the  discipline  of  his  school-boy  days,  may  rest  satisfied  that  he 
wears  a  chaplet  of  greater  lustre  and  more  lasting  glory  than  ever 
adorned  the  warrior's  brow. 

Life,  physical  and  mental,  is  the  result  of  association;  we  are 
portions  of  all  around  us.  The  harmony  of  the  physiological 
organization  preserves  the  one ;  the  intellectual  stores  received  by 
perception  sustain  the  other.  By  association,  the  cerebral  faculties 
become  more  capacious  and  of  wider  grasp,  and  judgment  enlarges 
her  sphere  and  acts  with  greater  wisdom  and  justice.  I  would 
that  truths  founded  on  such  a  basis  were  more  generally  recog 
nized,  and  that  opinions  and  decisions  were  made  on  such  organic 
principles.  Association,  not  segregation,  is  the  ladder  we  ascend,  the 


Il.'O  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

better  to  have  a  true  view  of  what  we  take  cognizance  o£  The  rule 
applies  equally  to  things,  to  acts,  and  to  individuals.  I  know  my 
man,  I  make  a  right  estimate,  when  I  comprehend  not  merely  what 
he  accomplished,  but  the  circumstances  in  which  he  moved  and  acted. 
the  obstacles  overcome,  the  incidents  which  favored  his  designs. 
Every  body  knows  that  there  never  flourished,  within  our  precincts, 
a  more  beautiful  wood  than  that  which  ornamented  Hoboken  and 
Weehawken.  It  has  been  famous  in  prose  and  in  song ;  but  when 
we  are  told  that  within  that  forest,  in  its  best  estate,  Kalm.  the  bota 
nist  of  Abo.  enriched  the  species  plantarum  of  Lannaeus :  that  here  the 
enthusiastic  Masson  discovered  new  plants  of  interesting  character  and 
properties ;  that  Volney  here  at  times  luxuriated  while  in  philosophi 
cal  contemplation;  that  here,  amidst  these  beautiful  and  majestic 
trees,  Michaux  the  younger  composed  some  portions  of  his  American 
Flora ;  that  Pursh  added  to  his  great  botanical  treasures  from  these 
woods,  as  did  also  the  unfortunate  Douglass;  that  in  these  walks 
Irving  and  Paulding  and  Yerplanck,  in  their  earlier  days,  cherished 
those  sympathies  with  nature  which  give  vitality  to  their  descriptive 
powers ;  that  here  the  ornithologist,  Wilson,  and  his  successor,  Audu- 
bon,  passed  many  of  the  choicest  hours  of  their  pilgrimage  of  life ; 
that  here  Cooke.  the  tragedian,  after  undue  excitement,  found  allevia 
tion  of  sorrow,  and  Matthews,  the  comedian,  a  solace  for  grievous 
melancholy ;  that  the  soil  of  Hoboken  yielded  to  Bruce  the  magnesian 
lime-stone,  a  product  most  precious  in  a  mineralogical  cabinet ;  that 
here  the  elder  Stevens  made  experiments,  the  first  in  either  hemi 
sphere,  in  demonstration  of  the  practicability  of  railroad  communica 
tion ;  and  more,  when  we  find  that  our  congenial  Halleck  has 
enlisted  his  poetic  gifts  in  laudation  of  this  captivating  spot,  our 
gratification  swells,  every  tree  seems  clothed  with  richer  verdure,  and 
becomes  sacred  to  our  feelings.  I  walk  through  these  shady  groves 
with  emotions  enhanced  an  hundred-fold  by  such  associations,  and 
consider  how  many  rich  minds  have  surveyed  them,  and  what  trea 
sures  they  have  yielded  to  the  philosophical  and  rational  pursuits  of 
the  disciples  of  knowledge. 

But,  passing  from  these  general  reflections  on  the  prolific  subject 
of  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  under  extreme  difficulties,  and  the 


REMINISCENCES    OF    CHRISTOPHER    COL 

accomplishment  of  great  deeds  under  adverse  circumstances.  1  hasten 
to  notice,  though  briefly,  an  individual  who  long  bore  a  conspicu 
ous  part  in  the  affairs  of  our  active  population,  and  whose  life  and 
trials  may  be  set  forth  as  an  instructive  instance  of  personal  warfare 
against  conflicting  elements.  I  allude  to 

CHRISTOPHER  COLLES. 

There  must  still  be  among  us  some  few  old  Knickerbockers,  whose 
recollections  of  some  thirty-five  years  ago  may  bring  him  before  them. 
The  young  men  of  the  present  day  may  have  heard  their  lathers  talk 
of  the  little  weather-beaten  old  man.  small  in  stature,  and  attenuated 
in  frame,  of  weight  some  one  hundred  and  ten  pounds  avoirdupois,  who 
existed  by  his  telegraph  on  the  Government-House  at  the  Bowling- 
Green.  and  his  telescope  in  the  Park. 

Colles  was  by  birth  an  Irishman,  and,  losing  his  parents  when 
quite  young,  accident  placed  him  under  the  care  of  the  renowned  Rich 
ard  Pococke,  the  oriental  traveller,  and  afterward  Bishop  of  Ossory. 
The  pursuits  of  Pococke  led  the  mind  of  his  adopted  student  to  phy 
sical  investigation,  and,  it  would  appear,  that  to  considerable  attain 
ments  in  languages  he  added  a  fair  acquaintance  with  mathematics, 
mineralogy,  climate,  antiquities,  and  geographical  science.  Shortly 
after  the  death  of  his  patron,  in  1765,  inspired  with  the  travelling  pro 
pensities  of  his  instructor,  he  set  out  a  wanderer  from  his  native  land, 
and  we  find  him  about  the  year  1772  engaged  here  in  delivering  a 
series  of  lectures  on  the  subject  of  lock  navigation.  He  was  the  first 
person  who  suggested  canals,  and  improvements  on  the  Ontario  route. 
In  November,  1784,  according  to  the  records  of  the  Assembly,  he  pre 
sented  a  memorial  on  the  subject,  and.  in  April  following,  a  favorable 
report  was  had  thereon.  Colles  visited  the  country,  and  took  an 
actual  survey  of  the  principal  obstructions  upon  the  Mohawk  riv  : 
far  as  Wood  Creek.  He  published  the  results  of  his  tour  in  a  pamph 
let  from  the  press  of  S.  London.  17 So.  "The  xmtaina  extent  of  the 
five  great  lakes,"  says  Colles,  ;i  to  which  the  proposed  navigation  wiH 
communicate,  will  be  found  to  have  five  times  as  much  coast  as  all 
England :  and  the  countries  watered  bv  the  numerous  rivers  which 


198  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

fall  into  these  lakes,  full  seven  or  eight  times  as  great  as  that  valu 
able  island." 

In  an  article  on  the  "  Water  Chronology  of  the  City  of  New- 
York,"  published  in  that  valuable  repository,  the  Corporation  Manual 
of  Mr.  Valentine  for  1854,  the  services  of  Mr.  Colles  are  duly  noticed 
by  the  writer,  Theodore  E.  De  Forest.  Colles,  in  1774,  proposed  tho 
construction  of  a  reservoir  and  other  works,  between  Pearl  and  White 
streets,  in  this  city,  and  to  answer  that  end,  the  expense  was  to  be 
defrayed  by  issuing  redeemable  paper  money.  The  war  of  the  revo 
lution  arrested  the  undertaking,  yet  in  1778  the  people  petitioned  that 
Colles'  plan  might  be  carried  out.  In  1797,  we  find  his  name  among 
the  applicants  for  a  contract  to  convey  water  through  the  city  by 
means  of  pipes.  This  was  about  the  time  that  Dr.  Brown  associated 
himself  with  the  Manhattan  Company,  in  order  to  procure  for  the  city 
a  proper  supply  of  pure  and  wholesome  water.  Dr.  Brown  recom 
mended  to  the  Common  Council  the  Bronx  river  for  that  purpose ; 
and  this,  it  is  affirmed,  is  the  first  indication  on  record  that  a  supply 
from  without  the  city  was  to  be  looked  for.  I  believe  that  Colles 
made  the  original  suggestion  to  Brown. 

Through  the  kindness  of  a  Knickerbocker  friend,  G.  B.  Eapelye,  I 
have  before  me  an  elaborate  pamphlet  written  by  Colles,  and  pub 
lished  in  New- York  in  1808,  on  the  interests  of  the  United  States  of 
America,  extending  to  all  conditions  of  men,  by  means  of  inland 
navigable  communications.  He  calls  his  plan,  the  Timber  Canal,  rea 
dier  and  more  feasible  to  make,  and  far  cheaper.  These  several  tracts 
show  the  devotion  and  abilities  of  Colles,  at  a  time  when,  in  our  coun 
try,  few  indeed  were  qualified  to  enter  as  competitors  in  his  design. 

These  several  projects  of  public  improvement  gave  to  Colles  occu 
pation  congenial  to  his  habits  of  study,  though  they  resulted  in  but 
trifling  pecuniary  returns.  His  modesty  and  unassuming  character 
were  little  calculated  to  force  him  within  the  channels  of  profitable 
occupation;  yet  he  filled  up  what  leisure  he  had  with  mathe 
matics,  hydraulics,  and  kindred  studies.  He  was  among  the  first, 
if  not  the  very  first  individual  who  commenced  itinerant  public 
instruction.  He  practised  land-surveying,  and  taught  it  in  lectures  in 
different  parts  of  this  State  and  elsewhere.  He  lectured  on  elec- 


REMINISCENCES    OF    CHRISTOPHER    COLLES.  199 

tricity,  though  I  do  not  know  that,  like  Franklin,  he  made  his  own 
electrical  machine,  in  this  city.*  Mineralogy  and  manures,  mesmerism 
and  mathematics  were  also  topics  of  his  public  discourses.  The  expo 
sitions  of  the  orrery  of  Rittenhouse  doubtless  often  aided  to  enlarge 
his  audiences  in  those  days.  My  old  friend,  President  King,  might 
have  said  more  of  him  in  his  Memoir  on  the  Croton  Aqueduct. 

As  there  were  periods  when  he  could  not  study,  and  hours  when 
he  could  not  lecture,  the  propensities  of  his  old  master  roused  him  to 
new  efforts  as  a  traveller.  He  wandered  through  divers  parts  of 
Pennsylvania  and  this  State,  until  he,  by  personal  examinations  and 
calculations,  prepared  a  Book  of  Roads  for  New- York,  which  he  pub 
lished  in  1789.  I  never  heard  from  his  lips  any  lamentations  on  his 
travels,  or  his  gastric  sufferings,  such  as  old  Mrs.  Knight  has  recorded 
in  her  Tour  through  the  Wilderness  from  Hartford  to  New- York, 
made  some  time  before.  Colles  was  a  genuine  philosopher ;  he  had 
studied  the  Salernian  precepts,  and  could  practically  declare  that  a 
bit  in  the  morning  was  better  than  nothing  all  day. 

Upon  his  final  settlement  in  New- York,  he  at  first  lived  by  mak 
ing  band-boxes :  whether  his  mathematics  gave  them  more  symmetry 
and  grace,  there  is  no  one  left  to  tell  us.  His  support  from  this 
source  was  precarious,  and  other  appliances  were  at  work,  in  the 
manufacture  of  Prussian  blue  and  other  pigments.  George  Baron 
commenced  the  Mathematical  Correspondent,  the  first  publication 
of  that  sort  in  the  Union,  and  similar  in  its  intentions  to  the  work  of 
Dr.  Hutton.  Baron  was  an  English  radical ;  and  Colles,  with  a  spice 
of  democracy  in  him,  must  have  found  politics  and  mathematics  and 
the  social  habits  of  Baron  an  occasional  relief  from  his  weightier 
cares.  The  almanac-makers  at  fault,  Colles  supplied  their  deficiencies 
in  astronomical  calculations;  and  he  added  to  these  avocations  the 
collecting  and  arranging  of  opossum  and  beaver-skins,  Indian  vases 
and  tomahawks,  and  other  objects  of  curiosity  with  which  he  became 
familiar  during  his  extensive  western  tours  through  the  Mohawk 
country,  and  his  interviews  with  the  chiefs  of  Oneida  Castle.  He 
found  a  congenial  friend  in  Gardiner  Baker,  who  was  then  engaged  in 

*  Colden  Correspondence,  when  I  examined  it  in  1810. 


200  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

fitting  up  a  cabinet  of  native  curiosities  for  the  Tammany  Society, 
recently  organized  for  the  promotion  of  natural  science  and  American 
antiquities,  the  Grand  Sachem  of  which  was  William  Pitt  Smith, 
M.D.,  the  author  of  the  Letters  of  Amyntor. 

A  windfall  seems  to  occur  once  in  the  life  of  every  individual,  and 
so  it  happened  to  Colles.  The  Constitution  of  the  United  States  being 
adopted,  and  the  duties  on  spirits  established  by  Congress,  both  the 
hydrostatics  and  chemistry  of  Colles  were  called  into  requisition,  and  he 
was  appointed  to  test  the  specific  gravity  of  imported  liquors.  From 
the  scarcity  of  the  article,  he  turned  his  artistic  skill  to  the  making  of 
proof-glasses — another  source  of  profit  to  him.  But  this  period  of 
advantageous  business  had  its  end ;  and,  in  his  study  of  new  things,  he 
projected  his  telegraph,  which  enabled  him  to  meet  his  most  pressing 
wants,  in  his  again  straitened  condition.  The  American  Academy  of 
Fine  Arts  was  now  instituted,  with  Edward  Livingston  as  its  presi 
dent  ;  and,  enriched  with  the  Napoleon  presents  and  Chancellor  Liv 
ingston's  rich  gifts,  needed  a  superintendent  to  watch  over  the  beauti 
ful  sculptures  which  it  possessed.  John  Pintard,  his  ever-constant 
friend,  secured  the  trust  for  Colles,  and  we  now  find  our  ubiquitous 
philosopher  in  good  quarters  and  in  wholesome  employment.  The 
fondest  mother  never  regarded  with  greater  care  her  first-born  than 
Colles  watched  over  the  Venus  of  the  Bath.  He  had  leisure  now  to 
drive  another  business,  and  perhaps  the  luckiest  of  his  scientific  hits 
was  the  application  he  made  of  his  telescope  and  microscope.  The 
casual  pittance  of  a  six-penny  piece  for  a  look  at  Venus,  or  the  circu 
lation,  through  the  web  of  a  frog's  foot,  with  his  exegetical  remarks, 
proved  adequate  to  his  now  fullest  desires.  What  a  contrast  of  con 
dition  in  life  was  Colles  in  New- York,  with  his  old  master,  the  affluent 
Dolland,  of  London,  with  whom  he  had  worked  at  achromatic  lenses ! 
It  was  not  always  a  clear  atmosphere  for  Colles'  apparatus,  but  a 
brilliant  night  or  a  cloudless  day  added  to  his  receipts ;  and  the  fuller 
contents  of  his  basket,  and  the  larger  size  of  his  head  of  cabbage,  as 
he  returned  from  market,  were  diagnostic  of  the  results  of  the  pre 
ceding  twenty-four  hours. 

While  Colles  was  thus  striving  for  the  means  of  his  daily  exist 
ence,  he  was  aided  by  a  residence  in  the  Government-House,  whither 


REMINISCENCES    OF    CHRISTOPHER    COLLES.  201 

the  Academy  of  Arts  had  been  removed.  Nor  was  he  wholly  over 
looked  by  prominent  characters.  His  acquisitions  were  known  by 
many,  to  be  extensive  if  not  profound ;  his  industry  through  a  long 
life  knew  no  idle  hour ;  his  talents  were  admitted  to  be  above  the 
ordinary  standard ;  his  plans  were  sometimes  pronounced  visionary, 
but  his  conversation  was  instructive,  and  his  genius  in  mechanics  suffi 
ciently  original  to  command  approbation.  His  nature  was  benevo 
lent  :  his  morals  void  of  offence  toward  GOD  and  man.  He  was  the 
advocate  of  an  enlarged  toleration  in  political  as  well  as  in  religious 
opinion ;  and  cordially  as  well  as  practically  adopted  the  sentiment  of 
Jeremy  Taylor,  "The  way  to  judge  of  religion  is  by  doing  our  duty ; 
and  theology  is  rather  a  divine  life  than  a  divine  knowledge."  It  was 
Iris  constant  aim  to  be  useful.  If  his  occupation  was  not  always  ele 
vated,  he  was  too  frequently  the  victim  of  controlling  circumstances. 
He  knew  Poor  Eichard  by  heart,  yet  he  overlooked  his  aphorism, 
"  Three  removes  are  as  bad  as  a  fire,"  and  was  wont  to  substitute,  in 
justification  of  his  numerous  transitions  in  life,  the  maxim,  "  A  nim 
ble  sixpence  is  better  than  a  sluggish  shilling."  Many  paid  deference 
to  him  amid  all  his  disappointments.  De  Witt  Clinton  included 
him  among  the  prominent  promoters  of  internal  improvement,  and 
with  philosophical  liberality,  uttered  this  noble  sentiment  in  reference 
to  Colles  as  well  as  others :  "  For  the  good  which  has  been  done  by 
individuals  or  communities  in  relation  to  the  work,  let  each  have  a 
due  share  of  credit."  Dr.  Mitchill  often  visited  him  and  lauded  his 
services  in  the  advancement  of  public  works.  Jarvis,  the  painter,  pro 
nounced  him  a  genius,  and  painted  his  portrait  with  great  fidelity. 
"  My  pencil,"  said  Jarvis,  "  will  render  you  hereafter  better  known  : 
you  have  done  too  much  good  to  be  forgotten."  The  picture  is,  or 
ought  to  be,  in  the  Historical  Society.  Dr.  Hosack  commemorated 
him,  in  his  Life  of  Clinton,  as  an  early  pioneer  in  behalf  of  the  canal 
policy  of  New- York,  and  caused  an  engraving  of  his  portrait  to  occupy 
a  niche  on  the  column  of  his  canal  worthies.  Senator  Seward  has  not 
overlooked  him  in  his  elaborate  introduction  to  the  Natural  History 
of  New- York.  Trumbull,  the  historical  painter,  often  cheered  him 
onward,  and  bid  him  hope,  for  on  that  article  he  himself  had  long  lived. 
Nor  was  that  genuine  Knickerbocker,  G.  C.  Verplanck,  indifferent  to 


202  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

his  condition,  nor  backward  in  suggestions.  In  the  great  celebration 
which  took  place  in  this  city  in  November,  1825,  when  the  waters  of 
Erie  united  with  the  Atlantic,  the  effigy  of  Colles  was  borne  with 
appropriate  dignity  among  the  emblems  of  that  vast  procession.  But 
to  John  Pintard  was  Colles  most  indebted,  many  years,  for  nume 
rous  acts  of  beneficence  and  for  his  bounty  in  greatest  need.  As 
through  his  whole  life  of  four-score  years  he  had  always  more  ideas  in 
his  brain  than  pennies  in  his  pocket,  he  must  have  proved  something 
more  than  an  occasional  customer. 

As  Colles  was  an  instructive  representative  of  much  of  that 
peculiarity  in  the  condition  and  affairs  of  New- York  at  the  time  in 
which  he  may  be  said  to  have  flourished,  I  shall  trespass  a  moment, 
by  a  brief  exhibit  of  the  circumstances  which  marked  the  period  in 
which  he  was  upon  the  whole  a  prominent  character.  Every  body 
seemed  to  know  him ;  no  one  spoke  disparagingly  of  him.  His  enthu 
siasm,  his  restlessness  were  familiar  to  the  citizens  at  large.  He,  in 
short,  was  a  part  of  our  domestic  history,  and  an  extra  word  or  two 
may  be  tolerated  the  better  to  give  him  his  fair  proportions.  Had  I 
encountered  Colles  in  any  land,  I  would  have  been  willing  to  have 
naturalized  him  to  our  soil  and  institutions.  He  had  virtues,  the 
exercise  of  which  must  prove  profitable  to  any  people.  The  biogra 
pher  of  Chaucer  has  seen  fit,  inasmuch  as  his  hero  was  born  in  Lon 
don,  to  give  us  a  history  and  description  of  that  city  at  the  time  of 
Chaucer's  birth,  as  a  suitable  introduction  to  his  work.  I  shall 
attempt  no  such  task,  nor  shall  I  endeavor  to  make  Colles  a  hero, 
much  as  I  desire  to  swell  his  dimensions.  I  shall  circumscribe  him  to 
a  chap-book ;  he  might  be  distended  to  a  quarto.  Yet  the  ardent  and 
untiring  man  was  so  connected  with  divers  affairs,  even  after  he  had 
domesticated  himself  among  us,  that  the  every  movement  in  which  he 
took  a  part  must  have  had  a  salutary  influence  on  the  masses  of  those 
days.  He  was  a  lover  of  nature,  and  our  village  city  of  that  time 
gave  him  a  fair  opportunity  of  recreation  among  the  lordly  plane,  and 
elm,  and  catalpa  trees  of  Wall-street,  Broadway,  Pearl-street,  and  the 
Bowery.  The  beautiful  groves  about  Eichmond  Hill  and  Lispenard 
Meadows,  and  old  Vauxhall,  mitigated  the  dullness  incident  to  his  con 
tinuous  toil.  A  trip  to  the  scattered  residences  of  Brooklyn  awakened 


REMINISCENCES    OF    CHRISTOPHER    COLLES.  203 

rural  associations ;  a  sail  to  Communipaw  gave  him  the  opportunity 
of  studying  marls  and  the  bivalves.  That  divine  principle  of  celestial 
origin,  religious  toleration,  seems  to  have  had  a  strong  hold  on  the 
people  of  that  day ;  and  the  persecuted  Priestley,  shortly  after  he 
reached  our  shores,  held  forth  in  the  old  Presbyterian  Church  in  Wall- 
street,  doubtless  favored  in  a  measure  by  the  friendship  of  old  Dr. 
Rodgers,  a  convert  to  Whitefield,  and  a  pupil  of  Witherspoon.  This 
tact  I  received  from  John  Pintard.  Livingston  and  Rodgers,  Moore 
and  Provoost  supplied  the  best  Christian  dietetics  his  panting  desires 
needed ;  while  in  the  persons  of  Bayley  and  Kissam,  and  Hosack 
and  Post  he  felt  secure  from  the  misery  of  dislocations  and  fractures, 
and  that  alarming  pest,  the  yellow  fever.  lie  saw  the  bar  occupied 
with  such  advocates  as  Hamilton  and  Burr,  Hoffmann  and  Golden, 
and  he  dreaded  neither  the  assaults  of  the  lawless,  nor  the  chicanery 
of  contractors.  The  old  Tontine  gave  him  more  daily  news  than  he 
had  time  to  digest,  and  the  Argus  and  Minerva,  Frenearfs  Time-Piece 
and  Sword' }s  New-York  Magazine  inspired  him  with  increased  zeal 
for  liberty  and  a  fondness  for  belles-letters.  The  City  Library  had, 
even  at  that  early  day,  the  same  tenacity  of  purpose  which  marks  its 
career  at  the  present  hour.  There  were  literary  warehouses  in 
abundance.  Judah  had  decorated  his  with  the  portrait  of  Paine,  and 
here  Colles  might  study  Common  Sense  and  the  Rights  of  Man,  or  he 
might  stroll  to  the  store  of  Duyckinck,  the  patron  of  books  of  piety, 
works  on  education,  and  Noah  Webster ;  or  join  tete-a-tete  with  old 
Hugh  Gaine  or  James  Rivington  and  Philip  Freneau ;  now  all  in 
harmony,  notwithstanding  the  withering  satire  against  those  accomniOT 
dating  old  tories  by  the  great  bard  of  the  revolutionary  crisis. 

The  infantile  intellect  of  those  days  was  enlarged  with  Humpty- 
Dumpty  and   Hi-diddle-diddle.*     Shop-windows    were   stored   with 

*  WE  have  books  without  end  concerning  the  origin  of  nations  and  races,  while  these  mental 
instructors  of  a  people  have  been  favored  with  scarcely  a  pamphlet  in  vindication  of  their  claims  to 
our  consideration.  I  have  inserted  below  the  two  best  Latin  versions  descriptive  of  their  trials  and 
mishaps.  They  have  been  too  long  the  schoolmasters  of  early  thought  to  be  longer  overlooked. 
Why  do  not  our  scholars  ferret  out  their  birth-place,  whether  High  Dutch  or  Low  Dutch,  with 
more  satisfaction,  instead  of  referring  us  to  the  drama  of  the  sixteenth  century  and  the  Bodleian 
Library  ?  Would  the  task  prove  unworthy  of  the  learning  of  the  distinguished  teacher  of  German, 
Professor  SCHMIDT,  of  Columbia  College  ?  He  might  find  in  the  inquiry  a  pastime  from  the  cares  of  his 


204  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

portraits  of  Paul  Jones  and  Truxton,  and  the  musical  sentiment  broke 
forth  in  ejaculations  of  Tally  Ho !  and  old  Towler  in  one  part  of  the 
town,  and,  in  softer  accents,  with  Eousseau's  Dream  in  another.  Here 
and  there,  too,  might  be  found  a  coterie  gratified  with  the  crescendo 
and  diminuendo  of  Signor  Trazetta;  nearly  thirty  years  elapsed 
from  this  period  ere  the  arrival  of  the  Garcia  troupe,  through  the  efforts 
of  our  lamented  Almaviva,  Dominick  Lynch,  the  nonpareil  of  society, 
when  the  Italian  opera,  with  its  unrivalled  claims,  burst  forth  from 
the  enchanting  voice  of  that  marvellous  company.  The  years  1795- 
1800  were  unquestionably  the  period  in  which  the  treasures  of  the 
German  mind  were  first  developed  in  this  city  by  our  exotic  and  indi 
genous  writers.  That  learned  orientalist,  Dr.  Kunze,  now  com 
menced  the  translations  into  English  of  the  German  Hymns,  and 
Strebeck  and  Milledolar  gave  us  the  Catechism  of  the  Lutherans. 
The  Rev.  Mr.  Will,  Charles  Smith,  and  William  Dunlap  now  sup 
plied  novelties  from  the  German  dramatic  school,  and  Kotzebue  and 
Schiller  were  found  on  that  stage  where  Shakespeare  had  made  his 
first  appearance  in  the  new  world  in  1752.  Colles  had  other  mental 
resources,  as  the  gayeties  and  gravities  of  life  were  dominant  with 
him.  The  city  was  the  home  of  many  noble  spirits  of  the  Revolu 
tion  :  General  Stevens,  of  the  Boston  Tea-Party,  was  here,  full  of 
anecdote.  Fish,  of  Yorktown  celebrity,  and  Gates  of  Saratoga, 
always  accessible. 

There  existed  in  New- York,  about  these  times,  a  war  of  opinion 
which  seized  even  the  medical  faculty.     The  Bastile  had  been  taken. 

collegiate  life.  Notwithstanding  Person's  labors,  "What's  Hecuba  to  me  or  I  to  Hecuba?"  is  the 
exclamation  of  many  a  youth  whose  formative  development  sprung  from  Humpius  Dumpius. 

HtriiTius  in  muro  requievit  Dumtius  alto ; 
Humtius  e  muro  Dumtius  heu  cecidit! 
Sed  non  regis  equi,  reginto  exercitus  omnis, 
Humti,  te,  Dumti,  restituere  loco ! 


HEI  didulum !  atque  iterum  didulnm !  felisque  ftdesque, 
Vacca  super  lunae  cornua  prosiluit : 
Nescio  qua  catulus  risit  dulccdine  ludi; 
Alstulit  et  turpi  lanx  cochleare  fuga 

A  like  obscurity  hangs  over  JACKET  HOENEB.    After  all  that  has  been  said,  we  know  not  more 
accurately  of  his  nativity  than  we  do  of  the  site  of  that  ancient  city,  old  Troy. 


REMINISCENCES    OF    CHRISTOPHER    COLLES.  205 

French  speculations  looked  captivating,  and  Genet's  movements  won 
admiration,  even  with  grave  men.  In  common  with  others,  our  school 
masters  partook  of  the  prevailing  mania :  the  tricolored  cockade 
was  worn  by  numerous  school-boys,  as  well  as  by  their  seniors.  The 
yellow  fever  was  wasting  the  population ;  but  the  patriotic  fervor, 
either  for  French  or  English  politics,  glowed  with  ardor.  With  other 
boys  I  united  in  the  enthusiasm.  The  Carminole  was  heard  every 
where.  I  give  a  verse  of  a  popular  song  echoed  throughout  the  streets 
of  our  city,  and  heard  at  the  Belvidere  at  that  period : 

"AMERICA,  that  lovely  nation, 

Once  was  bound,  but  now  is  free ; 
She  broke  her  chain,  for  to  maintain 
The  rights  and  cause  of  liberty." 

Strains  like  this  of  the  Columbian  bards  in  those  days  of  party 
virulence  emancipated  the  feelings  of  many  a  throbbing  breast,  even 
as  now  the  songs,  of  pregnant  simplicity  and  affluent  tenderness,  by 
Morris,  afford  delight  to  a  community  pervaded  by  a  calmer  spirit, 
and  controlled  by  a  loftier  refinement.  Moreover,  we  are  to  remem 
ber  that  in  that  early  age  of  the  Republic  an  author,  and  above  all  a 
poet,  was  not  an  every-day  article.  True,  old  Dr.  Smith,  once  a 
chemical  professor  in  King's  College,  surcharged  with  learning  and 
love,  who  found  Delias  and  Daphnes  everywhere,  might  be  seen  in 
the  public  ways,  with  his  madrigals  for  the  beautiful  women  of  his 
select  acquaintance ;  but  the  buds  of  promise  of  the  younger  Low 
(of  a  poetic  family)  were  blighted  by  an  ornithological  error  : 

"  'T  is  morn,  and  the  landscape  is  lovely  to  view, 
The  nightingale  warbles  her  song  in  the  grove." 

Weems  had  not  yet  appeared  in  the  market,  with  his  Court  of 
Hymen ;  Clifton  was  pulmonary  ;  Wardell's  declaration 

"To  the  tuneful  APOLLO  I  now  mean  to  hollow !;) 

was  annunciatory  —  and  nothing  more ;  and  Searson,  exotic  by  birth, 
yet  domesticated  with  us,  having  made  vast  struggles  in  his  perilous 


208  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

in  the  erection  of  that  immense  undertaking,  the  Croton  Aqueduct,  a 
demonstration  worthy  of  the  talents  and  renown  of  Major  Douglass. 
There  was  something  very  engaging  in  the  physiognomy  of  Colics. 
He  was  naturally  cheerful  and  buoyant ;  at  times  pensive,  yet  free 
from  any  corrosive  melancholy.  His  ample  front,  his  sparse  white; 
locks,  his  cavernous  gray  eyes,  with  that  weakness  which  often  marks 
old  age,  betokened  a  resigned  spirit.  To  see  him  on  an  early  morn 
ing  visit,  seated  at  his  small  pine  table,  with  his  bowl  of  milk,  his  dry 
bread  and  potato,  offering  up  grace  for  the  bounties  he  was  favored 
with,  was  a  lesson  to  the  ungrateful  epicure,  of  edifying  influence. 
The  cheerfulness  and  mellowness  of  his  life  are  well  expressed  in  the 
words  of  Dyer,  on  another  occasion: 

" THERE  is  a  mood, 


(I  sing  not  to  the  vacant  or  the  young,) 

There  is  a  kindly  mood  of  melancholy 

That  wings  the  soul  and  points  her  to  the  skies." 

If  to  his  great  and  varied  attainments  Colles  had  added  the  practi 
cal  functions  of  a  school-master,  or  had  he  been  more  fortunate  in  his 
fiscal  relations,  he  might  have  been  honored  with  the  highest  academic 
distinction  by  some  of  our  venerable  collegiate  institutions. 


0f 


BY      GEOKGE      P.      MOKRI8. 


AlE.      "Roy's   Wife* 


JEANNIE  MARSH  of  Cherry  Valley, 

At  whose  call  the  muses  rally ; 

Of  all  the  nine  none  so  divine 

As  JEANNIE  MARSH  of  Cherry  Valley. 

She  'minds  me  of  her  native  scenes, 

Where  she  was  born  among  the  cherries ; 
Of  peaches,  plums,  and  nectarines, 

Pears,  apricots,  and  ripe  strawberries ! 

JEANNIE  MARSH  of  Cherry  Valley. 


JEANNIE  MARSH  of  Cherry  Valley, 
In  whose  name  the  muses  rally ; 
Of  all  the  nine  none  so  divine 
As  JEANNIE  MARSH  of  Cherry  Valley. 
A  sylvan  nymph  with  queenly  grace, 

An  angel  she  in  every  feature ; 
The  sweet  expression  of  the  place, 

A  dimple  in  the  smile  of  nature ! 

JEANNIE  MARSH  of  Cherry  Valley. 
14 


•ai 


TTICKEEMAN. 


THE  finest  moral  trait  in  Kean  was  a  certain  spirit,  tenacity  of 
purpose,  and  lofty  confidence  in  himself,  which  differed  widely  from 
presumption  or  conceit :  a  kind  of  instinctive  faith,  that  no  force  of 
circumstances  or  prescription  ever  quenched.  This  quality,  more 
easily  felt  than  described,  seems  the  prerogative  of  genius  in  all 
departments  of  life,  and  is  often  the  only  explicable  inspiration  that 
sustains  it  amid  discomfiture  and  privation.  It  runs,  like  a  thread 
of  gold,  through  the  dark  and  tangled  web  of  Kean's  career  —  lends 
something  of  dignity  to  the  most  abject  moment  of  his  life,  and 
redeems  from  absolute  degradation  his  moments  of  most  entire  self- 
abandonment.  Thus,  when  an  obscure  and  provincial  actor,  perform 
ing  Alexander  the  Great,  he  replied  indignantly  to  the  sarcasm  of  an 
auditor  in  the  stage-box,  who  called  him  Alexander  the  Little  :  "  Yes, 
Sir,  with  a  great  soul !"  and  exulting] 7  told  his  wife,  after  his  first 
great  success  in  London,  in  reply  to  her  anxious  inquiry  what  Lord 

Essex  thought  of  him :  "  D n  Lord  Essex,  the  pit  rose  to  me ;" 

he  felt  that  the  appeal  of  genius  was  universal,  and  that  which 
stirred  in  his  blood  demanded  the  response  of  humanity.  This  con 
sciousness  of  natural  gifts  made  him  spurn  the  least  encroachment 
upon  his  self-respect,  however  poverty  weighed  him  down,  and  long 
before  fame  justified  to  the  world  his  claims.  He  rushed  for  ever 
away  from  the  house  of  his  earliest  protector,  because  of  a  careless 
remark  of  one  of  the  company  that  disavowed  his  equality  with  the 
children  of  the  family.  Whenever  an  inferior  part  was  allotted  him, 
he  fled  to  avoid  the  compromise  of  his  feelings ;  and  after  his  triumph 


212  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

was  achieved,  poured  a  bowl  of  punch  over  the  stage-manager's  head 
at  Drury  Lane,  to  punish  his  impertinent  criticisms  at  the  first 
rehearsal.  The  same  proud  independence  led  him  to  avoid  the  social 
honors  of  rank.  He  liked  professional  and  literary  men  because  he 
thought  they  truly  relished  and  understood  his  art.  The  restraints, 
the  cold  uniformity,  and  the  absence  of  vivid  interest  in  the  circles 
of  the  nobility,  either  oppressed  or  irritated  him,  and  he  chafed  until 
free  to  give  vent  to  his  humor,  passion,  and  convivial  tastes  among 
boon  companions. 

A  fine  audacity  and  that  abhorrence  of  the  conventional  we  find 
in  hunters,  poets,  and  artists  —  the  instinctive  self-assertion  of  a 
nature  assured  that  its  own  resources  are  its  best  and  only  reliable 
means  of  success  and  enjoyment  —  thus  underlaid  Kean's  wayward  and 
extravagant  moods ;  and  while  it  essentially  interfered  with  his  popu 
larity  as  a  man,  it  was  a  primary  cause  of  his  triumph  as  an  actor ; 
for  no  histrionic  genius  more  clearly  owed  his  success  to  the  will. 
In  this  regard  he  was  a  species  of  Alfieri.  The  style  he  adopted,  the 
method  he  pursued,  and  the  aim  he  cherished,  were  neither  under 
stood  nor  encouraged  until  their  own  intrinsic  and  overwhelming 
superiority  won  both  the  critics  and  the  multitude.  The  taste  in 
England  had  been  formed  by  Kemble  and  his  school :  dignity, 
correctness,  grave  emphasis,  and  highly-finished  elocution  had  become 
the  standard  characteristics.  Kean  was  a  bold  innovator  upon  this 
system ;  he  trusted  to  nature  more  than  to  art,  or  rather  endeavored 
to  fuse  the  two.  Thus,  while  carefully  giving  the  very  shades  of 
meaning  to  the  words  of  Shakspeare,  he  endeavored  to  personify  the 
character  —  not  according  to  an  eloquent  ideal,  but  with  human 
reality,  as  if  the  very  life-blood  of  Othello  and  Lear,  their  tempera 
ments  as  well  as  their  experience,  had  been  vitally  transferred  to  his 
frame  and  brain.  He  seemed  possessed  with  the  character  he  repre 
sented  ;  and,  throwing  mere  technical  rules  to  the  winds,  identified 
himself  through  passional  sympathy,  regulated  by  studious  con 
templation,  with  the  idiosyncrasies  of  those  whose  very  natures 
and  being  he  aspired  to  embody  and  develop. 

Kean  obeyed  the  instinct  of  genius,  when,  in  opposition  to  the 
management  at  Drury  Lane,  arranging  his  debut,  he  exclaimed, 


EDMUND    KEAN.  213 

"  Shylock  or  nothing !"  In  that  part  there  was  scope  for  his  intellec 
tual  energy,  opportunity  to  give  those  magical  shades  of  intensity 
and  throw  into  those  dark,  acute  features  the  infinite  power  of  ex 
pression  for  which  he  was  distinguished.  A  few  weeks  before  that 
memorable  evening,  his  first-born  son  had  died  in  a  provincial  town, 
and  in  all  the  agony  of  his  bereavement  he  had  been  obliged  to  act, 
to  gain  money  to  defray  the  funeral  expenses.  Thence  he  had 
gone  up  to  town,  and,  owing  to  a  misunderstanding  of  the  contract, 
for  months  endured  the  pressure  of  actual  want  and  the  heart-sickness 
of  hope  deferred.  The  season  was  unpropitious,  his  spirits  and 
energy  were  depressed  by  fasting,  affliction,  and  neglect.  While  he 
was  at  rehearsal,  his  wife  sold  one  of  her  few  remaining  articles 
of  apparel  to  obtain  him  a  dinner,  fortified  by  which  he  trudged 
through  the  snow  to  the  theatre.  The  series  of  triumphs  succeeding 
this  memorable  night  are  well  known.  The  overpowering  reality  of 
his  personation  gave  Lord  Byron  a  convulsive  fit,  caused  an  actress 
to  faint  on  the  stage,  and  an  old  comedian  to  weep,  replenished  the 
treasury  of  Drury  Lane,  electrified  the  United  Kingdom,  ushered  in 
a  new  theatrical  era,  and  crowned  him  with  sudden  prosperity  and 
fame.  His  star,  however,  set  in  clouds ;  his  last  appearance  in  Lon 
don  was  as  melancholy  as  his  first  was  brilliant ;  alienated  from  his 
family,  the  victim  of  excess  — -  proud,  sensitive,  and  turbulent  —  his 
domestic  troubles  were  only  reconciled  just  before  his  death,  which 
came  as  a  relief  to  himself  and  those  with  whom  he  was  connected. 

While  the  histrionic  achievements  of  Kean  identify  his  name 
with  the  progress  of  dramatic  art,  his  actual  life  and  habits  pertain 
rather  to  a  sphere  without  the  limits  of  civilization.  A  wild  vein 
belonged  to  his  very  nature,  and  seemed  indicative  of  gipsy  or  savage 
blood-  It  gleamed  sometimes  from  his  extraordinary  eyes,  when 
acting,  so  as  to  appal,  startle,  and  impress  every  class  of  observers. 
A  man  once  cried  out  in  the  pit  at  the  demoniacal  glare  of  his  optics, 
as  Shylock  meditating  revenge  on  his  creditor,  "It  is  the  devil!" 
His  poet-biographer  compares  him  to  the  van-winged  hero  of  Para 
dise  Lost ;  and  West,  the  painter,  declared  he  had  never  been  so 
haunted  by  the  look  of  a  human  face  as  by  that  of  Kean.  Some 
thing  of  this  peculiar  trait  also  exhibited  itself  in  his  action  and  tones, 


214  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

and  made  his  audience  thrill  with  the  fierce  energy  of  his  soul.  But 
while  it  thus  subserved  the  purposes  of  art,  and  was,  in  fact,  an 
element  of  his  genius,  it  infected  his  private  life  with  a  reckless  and 
half-maniacal  extravagance  that  was  fostered  by  his  addiction  to 
stimulants,  an  unprotected  infancy,  and  the  precarious  and  baffled 
tenor  of  his  youth  and  early  manhood. 

When  we  bring  home  to  ourselves  this  erratic  behavior,  combined 
with  extreme  vicissitudes  of  fortune,  the  career  of  Kean,  as  a  man, 
seems  almost  as  remarkable  as  it  was  as  an  actor.  A  stage-Cupid  at 
two  years  of  age,  a  circus-rider  and  harlequin,  then  an  infant  prodigy 
reciting  Rolla ;  his  very  origin  disputed ;  now  the  slave  of  a  capri 
cious,  ignorant,  and  selfish  woman  ;  and  now  the  wayward  protege  of 
a  benevolent  lady ;  arranging  Mother  Goose  for  one  manager,  and 
taking  the  part  of  a  supernumerary  for  another;  reduced  to  such 
poverty  as  to  travel  on  foot,  his  wife  trudging  wearily  at  his  side, 
and  his  boy  clinging  to  his  back ;  at  one  time  swimming  a  river  with 
his  theatrical  wardrobe  in  a  bundle  held  by  the  teeth,  and,  at  another, 
for  whole  days,  half-famished,  and  his  wife  praying  at  her  lonely 
vigils  for  a  speedy  release  by  death  from  hopeless  suffering ;  to-day 
dancing  attendance,  for  the  hundredth  time,  at  Drury  Lane,  to  gain  the 
ear  of  the  director,  and  known  among  the  bystanders  only  as  "  the 
little  man  with  the  capes  ;"  and  to-morrow,  the  idol  of  the  town,  his 
dressing-room  besieged  by  lords  —  few  chronicles  in  real  life  display 
more  vivid  and  sudden  contrasts  than  the  life  of  Kean.  The  mer 
curial  temper  that  belonged  to  him  was  liable,  at  any  moment,  to  be 
excited  by  drink,  sympathy,  an  idea,  or  an  incident.  One  night  it 
induced  him  to  disturb  the  quiet  household  where  he  lodged,  by 
jumping  through  a  glass  door ;  another,  to  seize  the  heads  of  the 
leaders  attached  to  his  majesty's  mail-coach  and  attempt  a  wrestling- 
match.  In  Dublin,  it  winged  his  flight  for  hours  through  the  dusky 
streets,  with  a  mob  of  screaming  constables  at  his  heels.  It  inspired 
him  to  engage  in  midnight  races  on  horseback.  In  more  quiet  mani^ 
festations,  it  induced  him  to  make  a  pet  of  a  lion,  and  a  sacred  relic 
of  the  finger-bone  of  Cook ;  and  prompted  him,  to  his  wife's  extreme 
annoyance,  to  retire  to  bed  in  the  costume  of  a  monkey.  At  one 
time  it  led  him  to  muse  for  hours  in  a  church-yard ;  and,  at  another, 


EDMUND    KEAN.  215 

to  try  country-life  on  his  estate  at  Bute,  or  haunt  the  "  Red  Lion" 
and  the  "  Coal-Hole."  In  England  it  made  him  a  volunteer  jockey  at 
a  race ;  hi  Italy,  a  fascinating  story-teller  and  mimic  to  the  monks  of 
road-side  convents ;  and  in  America,  caused  him  to  be  duly  inaugurated 
chief  of  a  tribe  of  Indians. 

There  is  no  actor  of  whom  such  instances  of  arrogance  toward 
the  public  and  individuals  are  related ;  but  it  is  to  be  observed  that 
they  generally  originated  in  exasperated  feeling,  caused  by  undeserved 
neglect  or  gross  misappreciation ;  and  charity  will  ever  make  allow 
ance  for  the  inevitable  results  of  an  incongruous  and  homeless  child 
hood.     Kean's  Cither  nearly  ruined  his  son's  physique  by  employing 
him,  at  a  tender  age,  to  figure  in  pantomime ;  timely  surgical  aid 
having  only  saved  his  limbs  from  utter  deformity.     The  redeeming 
influences  of  his  early  years  were  the  benevolent  intervention  of  Dr. 
Drury,  who,  recognizing  his  promise,  sent  him  to  Eton ;    and  the 
patient  teachings  of  Miss  Tidswell,  an  actress  of  Drury  Lane.     That 
he  was  born  with  a  genius  for  the  stage  is  evinced  by  the  fact  that 
at  the  age  of  thirteen  his  Cato   and  Hamlet  satisfied  provincial 
audiences ;  and  his  recitation  of  Satan's  Address  to  the  Sun,  from 
Paradise  Lost,  won  royal  approbation  at  Windsor.     His  talent  for 
feigning  served  him  occasionally  more  practical  benefit  than  that 
derived  from  its  entertaining  quality  ;  as,  when  he  was  released  from 
a  rash  engagement  on  board  ship,  as  cabin-boy,  for  pretended  deaf 
ness,  and  escaped  the  indignation  of  a  London  audience  he  wantonly 
disappointed,  by  a  well-acted  dislocation  of  the  shoulder. 

If  Kean's  early  circumstances  were  adverse  to  his  moral,  they 
were,  in  many  respects,  highly  favorable  to  his  professional  develop 
ment.  The  long  apprenticeship  he  served  to  the  stage,  embracing 
every  grade  of  character  and  almost  all  functions  of  a  player,  made 
him  thoroughly  at  home  on  the  boards,  and  induced  much  of  his  ease, 
tact,  and  facility ;  his  circus  experiences  and  habits  of  active  life  gave 
both  vigor  and  suppleness  to  his  frame ;  while  the  vagrant  career  he 
led,  brought  him  in  view  of  all  kinds  of  character  and  phases  of  life, 
by  which  he  observantly  profited  to  a  degree  that  only  those  intimate 
with  him  fully  realized.  While  in  this  country,  his  genius  excited 
the  intelligent  admiration,  and  his  recklessness  the  benevolent  care,  of 


216  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

a  professional  gentleman,  who  became  his  constant  associate  and 
friend.     From  him  I  learn  that  the  versatility  of  Kean's  accomplish 
ments  was  quite  as  remarkable  as  the  intensity  of  his  acting  and  the 
extravagance  of  his  moods.     He  would  often  enchain  an  intellectual 
circle  at  a  fashionable  party,  by  his  exquisite  vocalism,  the  effect  of 
which  was  inexplicable  to  those  who  listened  to  his  limited,  and  unmu 
sical  voice ;  or  by  the  rich  anecdotes  or  shrewd  comments  of  his  table- 
talk;   and  when  released  from  this  to  him  intolerable  social  thral 
dom,  work  off  the  nervous  reaction  induced  by  so  many  hours  of 
restraint,  by  throwing  half-a-dozen  summersets  with  the  celerity  and 
grace  of  a  practised  harlequin.     He  was,  indeed,  a  compact  embodi 
ment  of  muscles  and  nerves ;  his  agility  and  strength  were  such  that 
his  frame  instantly  obeyed  his  will  from  the  bound  of  a  gladiator  to 
the  expressive  restlessness  of  quivering  fingers.     His  voice  ranged 
through  every  note  and  cadence  of  power  and  sensibility ;  now  by  a 
whisper  of  tenderness  bringing  tears  from  callous  men,  and  the  next 
moment,  chilling  their  very  hearts  with  the  fierce  tones  of  an  impreca 
tion.    But  these  remarkable  physical  endowments  would  have  merely 
subserved  the  narrow  purposes  of  the  athlete  or  the  mimic,  had  they 
not  been  united  to  a  mind  of  extraordinary  sagacity  and  a  face  of 
unequalled  expression ;  by  virtue  of  these  he  rendered  them  the  instru 
ments   of  efficient  art.     The  professors  at  Edinburgh  were  disap 
pointed,  after  seeing  him  perform  and  hearing  him  converse,  to  find 
that  he  had  no  original  theory  of  elocution  to  broach,  and  no  striking 
principles  of  oratory  to  advocate.     His  touches  were  a  composite  and 
individual  result,  no  more  to  be  formally  imparted  than  the  glow  of 
poetry  or  the  zest  of  wit ;  they  grew  out  of  profound  observation 
fused  into  a  practical  issue  by  the  inspiration  of  genius. 

Coleridge  said  that  to  see  Kean  act  was  like  reading  Shakspeare 
by  lightning.  The  spell  of  his  penetrating  eyes  and  half  Jewish  phy 
siognomy  was  not  more  individual  than  his  style  of  personation ;  and 
the  attempt  to  transfer  some  of  his  points  to  another  has  almost  inva 
riably  produced  an  incongruous  effect.  His  excitable  temperament 
was  another  secret  of  his  magnetism  and  his  foibles ;  while  it  enabled 
him  wonderfully  to  engage  the  sympathies  of  an  audience,  it  rendered 
him  liable  to  be  overcome  by  the  least  moral  or  physical  excitement, 


EDMUND   KEAN.  217 

and  made  him  the  slave  of  impulse.  Regularly  in  New- York,  every 
afternoon,  he  seized  the  copy  of  an  evening  journal  inimical  to  him, 
with  the  tongs,  rang  for  a  servant,  and  sent  it  away  in  this  manner ; 
while,  at  the  same  time,  he  scrupulously  laid  aside  a  guinea  a  week, 
during  the  whole  of  his  sojourn,  to  reward  the  faithful  services  of  a 
poor  servant :  often  drawn  by  his  kind  guardian  from  a  haunt  of 
debauchery,  just  in  time  to  appear  on  the  stage,  he  would,  at  others, 
attire  himself  like  a  finished  gentleman,  mix  in  the  most  refined  soci 
ety,  and  manifest  a  noble  scorn  of  money,  and  an  absolute  reverence 
for  mental  superiority,  that  excited  involuntary  respect.  Kean,  the 
dissolute  man,  the  inebriated  boon  companion,  quoting  Latin,  the 
generous  and  loyal  friend,  the  funny  mimic,  and  the  great  imperson 
ator  of  Shakspeare,  seemed  like  so  many  different  beings,  with  some 
thing  identical  in  the  eyes,  voice,  and  stature :  and  as  marvellous  a 
disparity  marked  his  fortunes  —  it  being  scarcely  credible  that  the 
same  man  whose  appearance  brought  a  solitary  sixpence  to  the  Dum 
fries  theatre,  is  he  who,  glittering  with  the  ornaments  of  Garrick,  filled 
Drury  Lane  to  suffocation  for  entire  seasons ;  or  that  the  luxurious 
apartments,  crowded  with  men  of  note,  are  tenanted  by  him  whose 
wife  for  years  kept  vigils  of  penury.  It  is  creditable  to  Kean's  mag 
nanimity  under  these  bewildering  transitions,  that  he  never  played 
the  tyrant ;  that  he  was  uniformly  kind  to  poor  and  inferior  actors, 
and  manifested  a  spirit  above  envy.  After  seeing  old  Garcia  perform 
Otello  in  New- York,  he  sent  him  a  costly  gift  in  token  of  his  admira 
tion  ;  he  candidly  acknowledged  the  superiority  of  Talma,  and  labored, 
with  genuine  zeal,  to  commemorate  the  histrionic  fame  of  Cooke. 

It  is  common  to  speak  of  great  acting  or  vocalism  as  indescriba 
ble  ;  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  this  is  doubtless  true ;  but  distinctness 
of  style  is  characteristic  of  genius  in  all  things,  and  an  intellectual 
observer  can  adequately  report  even  the  evanescent  charms  of  dra 
matic  personation  when  harmoniously  conceived  and  efficiently  embo 
died.  Accordingly,  we  derive  from  the  criticisms  and  reminiscences 
of  Kean's  intelligent  admirers,  a  very  clear  idea  of  his  general  merits. 
It  is  obvious  that  these  consisted  of  simplicity  and  earnestness ;  that, 
endowed  with  fiery  passions  and  a  sagacious  intellect,  he  boldly  under 
took  to  represent  Shakspeare,  not  according  to  any  prescriptive 


218  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

model  or  rules  of  art,  but  through  his  individual  reflection  and  sym 
pathy.  Like  the  great  master  of  the  written  drama,  he  followed 
closely  the  intimations  of  nature ;  cast,  as  it  were,  self-consciousness 
away,  and  assimilated  the  actual  elements  of  human  life  with  his  own 
action  and  expression.  Hence  the  truth  of  his  violent  contrasts  —  the 
light  and  shade  of  art.  Hence  the  frequency  and  eifect  of  his  brief, 
suggestive,  and  thrilling  exclamations,  that  made  a  single  word  or 
interjection  reveal  infinite  woe,  joy,  surprise,  or  madness.  It  is  for 
the  same  reason,  that,  upon  refined  minds  and  earnest  hearts,  his  act 
ing  unfolded  ever  new  beauty  and  truth,  as  described  by  Dana,  whose 
criticism,  when  Kean  read,  he  exclaimed,  "This  man  understands 
me."  By  this  firm,  and,  if  we  may  so  say,  subtle  yet  instinctive 
adherence  to  nature,  a  certain  grandeur  and  effect,  only  yielded  her 
genuine  votaries,  seemed  to  invest  and  glorify  the  actor,  so  that  his 
most  incidental  attitudes  and  by-play  wore  a  reality  undiscoverable  in 
the  most  elaborate  efforts  of  inferior  performers.  To  the  same  prin 
ciple  we  ascribe  his  versatility.  Each  character  was  a  distinct  study. 
Where  his  consciousness  was  at  fault  in  suggesting  the  most  authentic 
manner,  tone,  or  expression,  he  had  recourse  to  observation ;  he 
reflected  deeply,  and  appeared  to  identify  himself,  by  the  process, 
with  the  being  he  was  to  enact,  until  his  very  soul  became  imbued 
with  the  melancholy  of  Hamlet  the  insanity  of  Lear,  and  the  mental 
agony  of  Othello. 


0f  fmwssus;  0r,  %  §arts  0f 


A   DAY-DREAM. 


Y  THOMAS  WARD. 


LULLED  in  the  arms  of  my  "  too  easy-chair," 
Whose  soft  embrace  composes  every  care ; 
No  coming  toil  for  thought  to  brood  upon ; 
Even  the  fond  task  of  dinner  fitly  done, 
I  lounged  luxurious,  and  beguiled  the  time 
With  GRISWOLD'S  garnered  hoard  of  native  rhyme. 
HEAVEN,  sure,  the  land  with  favoring  eye  regards  — 
Two  hundred  genuine  and  immortal  bards ! 
Time  was  when  Genius'  weary  growth  was  slow, 
A  century-plant,  that  once  an  age  would  blow, 
A  shooting  orb,  that  as  it  rushed  and  blazed, 
Drew  eyes  of  millions,  and  their  senses  crazed : 
And  nations  hushed  as  if  the  thunder  spoke, 
Then  in  one  wide  and  general  poean  broke ! 
How  few  enshrined  and  classic  gods  of  rhyme, 
Embalmed  by  fame,  survive  the  rust  of  tune ! 
Less  than  the  muses  that  inspired  their  strain  — 
Still  less  —  of  Europe's  modern  boast  remain. 
Though  myriad  twinklers,  struggling  for  our  gaze, 
Just  stain  the  zenith  with  their  general  haze ; 
Apart  and  rare  the  lights  of  surer  ray 
Emerge  like  planets  from  that  milky  way. 
But  in  our  sphere  what  numbers  claim  the  eye ! 
Two  hundred  lights  contending  for  the  sky ! 
Two  hundred  wits  of  one  ripe  age  the  birth ! 
Whence  this  profusion  ?    Does  the  teeming  earth 


220  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Of  our  prolific  clime,  so  fatly  rife 
"With  the  rank  waste  of  vegetative  life, 
That  plant  a  stake,  at  once  it  sprouts  a  tree, 
Spawn  genius,  too,  as  well  ?    How  oft  we  see 
Wit's  sapless  twig,  that  had  but  drooped  elsewhere, 
Here  planted,  shoot,  and  laurel  honors  bear ! 
Great  god  of  Song !  and  canst  thou  thus  inspire 
At  once  such  numbers  with  thy  precious  fire  ? 
Of  the  two  hundred,  grant  but  only  two 
Of  ancient  stamp,  and  take  the  residue ! 

Thus  musing,  whether  with  the  weight  oppressed, 

Of  dinner,  or  my  book,  I  sank  to  rest; 

And  my  soul  hovered  with  un  ply  ing  wing 

In  that  rare  midway  realm  where  visions  spring. 

When  lo !  along  the  horizon's  brim  afar 

Kose  on  my  sight  great  PH<EBUS'  golden  car  I 

Harnessed  to  coursers,  mettled,  fleet,  and  proud, 

Trampling  the  noiseless  and  unyielding  cloud : 

The  linked  Hours  around  the  chariot  flew, 

Fair  as  the  forms  that  GUIDO'S  pencil  drew. 

AURORA,  leading  the  fair  band  of  Hours, 

Rained  from  her  hand  a  shower  of  dropping  flowers : 

Seemed  the  whole  vision,  as  it  swam  the  sky, 

An  iridescent  bubble  floating  by ; 

Which,  as  it  neared  Parnassus'  sacred  hill, 

Lighted,  re-bounded,  quivered,  and  stood  still  1 

At  once  dismounting  there,  the  radiant  god, 

Gracious  with  smiles,  the  hallowed  mountain  trod. 

His  showering  locks  of  amber,  ah1  unbound, 

Shook  the  gold  dust  of  shivered  sunbeams  round. 

To  greet  him  circling  stood,  with  lesser  stars, 

MINERVA,  VENUS,  DIAN,  doughty  MARS, 

BACCHUS,  and  HERMES  :  while  the  welkin  rang 

With  hymning  welcome,  as  the  muses  sang: 

To  whom  APOLLO  :  "  Mighty  deities ! 

And  sisters  fair !  thanks  for  your  courtesies ! 

Upon  our  circuit,  through  this  nether  sphere, 

We  begged  your  presence  and  your  counsel  here, 

To  grace  our  sessions,  held  to  reprimand 

Our  laggard  subjects  of  far  Gotham-land 


THE    SESSIONS    OF   PARNASSUS.  221 

From  which  disloyal  province  of  our  state 

No  verbal  incense  have  we  snuffed  of  late. 

Rarely  a  verse  from  their  dull  ranks  appearing ; 

Karest  of  all,  a  song  that 's  worth  the  hearing. 

And,  king  of  medicine,  as  well  as  song, 

'Tis  ours  to  physic  the  disordered  throng. 

Hence  have  we  summoned  such  delinquents,  then, 

To  rap  the  knuckles  that  refuse  the  pen. 

Good  HERMES  deigns  our  right-hand  man  to  be  — 

Our  crier,  clerk,  and  eke  factotum  he. 

"Present  the  calendar!  first  on  the  page 

Call  BRYANT!"    Promptly  to  the  lyric  sage 

Wings  the  swift  god,  and  soon  to  sight  is  lost. 

The  bard  he  startles,  busy  at  his  "  Post," 

Craving  indulgence,  just  to  sharpen  still 

One  "leader"  more  on  that  "Nebraska  Bill." 

But  gods  are  strong,  and  men  must  needs  obey, 

So  HERMES  shows  him  up  the  heavenly  way. 

Sensation  stirred  the  court  as  he  appeared, 

And  Muses  trembled  at  that  "  eastern  beard." 
''  Sir  !"  spake  APOLLO,  "  much  it  grieves  our  heart 

That  thou,  a  chosen  priest  of  heavenly  art, 

Chartered  to  preach  our  faith  and  mysteries, 

In  that  benighted  land  where  Gotham  lies, 

Heaping,  or  wasting,  still  on  gain  intent, 

Unwisely  gotten,  more  unwisely  spent  : 

Where  Learning  withers  'neath  the  golden  glare, 

And  men  are  measured  by  the  purse  they  wear : 

And  bards,  cold-shouldered,  passed  without  compassion ; 

And  song  itself  '  cui-bonoed '  out  of  fashion : 

Deeply  it  grieves  us  such  as  thou  to  find, 

Sowing  the  golden  harvest  of  thy  mind 

Not  on  the  muses'  gardens  of  the  rose, 

But  that  most  sterile  waste  —  (excuse  me)  —  prose." 

Replied  the  poet,  somewhat  nettled,  "Sire  ! 

My  lord,  and  master  of  the  matchless  lyre ! 

True,  prose  for  bread  I  bartered,  I  confess : 

But  I  am  toiling  for  the  freest  press 

And  freest  party  in  a  land  most  free : 

In  short,  your  grace,  my  theme  is  liberty; 


222  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Unbounded  liberty  my  aims  embrace, 
Without  regard  to  nation,  hue,  or  race : 
And  little  boots  it,  when  that  goal  we  'd  make, 
With  all  respect,  what  vehicle  we  take." 
"  Hold !"  quoth  the  god,  "  Thou  dost  defame  the  art 
That  knows  the  readiest  access  to  the  heart. 
The  blows  of  prose,  like  those  by  fists  applied, 
Do  service  in  close  contest,  side  to  side ; 
While  song  throws  arrows,  feathered  and  sublime, 
That  range  through  widest  space  and  farthest  time ! 
Yet  wouldst  thou  match  them  as  of  equal  might ; 
And  this  from  thee  —  the  muses'  favorite  ? 
And  this  from  one  that  wears  the  laurel  crown  ? 
With  thy  own  weapons  will  I  put  thee  down. 
One  lyric  more  from  thy  all-moving  pen ; 
Another  song  like  that  of  '  MARION'S  Men' 
Would  course  the  land,  and  wake  in  every  part 
More  zealous  freedom  in  the  nation's  heart 
Than  all  the  'articles,'  unplumed  of  rhyme, 
.The  press  has  littered  since  the  birth  of  time  1" 

The  court  is  moved ;  the  muses  shout  applause 
At  this  warm  tribute  to  the  sacred  cause. 
The  bard  is  fairly  gagged  —  't  is  worthy  note  — 
By  cramming  his  own  laurels  down  his  throat. 

"  Retire !"  bowed  PIKEBUS!  "  this  your  warning  be : 
Stand  by  your  order,  and  remember  me ! 
And  now,  good  MERCURY  1"  the  monarch  cried, 

"  Go  summon  silent  HALLECK  to  our  side !" 

'T  was  long  before  the  bard,  prone  on  the  ground, 
Beneath  a  bay-tree,  fast  asleep,  was  found : 
Nor  would  he  wake,  though  HERMES  tweaked  Ms  ear, 
And  MARS,  less  tender,  pricked  him  with  his  spear. 

"  What  I  no  response !"  broke  PIKEBUS.     "  Cut  him  short ! 
Fine  the  delinquent  for  contempt  of  court !" 

"  Pardon !"  craves  PALLAS,  while  the  muses  weep. 

"  How  few  who  can  so  well  afford  to  sleep." 
At  length  MELPOMENE,  a  frolic  miss 
Among  the  muses,  woke  him  with  a  kiss. 
Tawning,  and  stretching  to  the  bar,  he  shies : 


THE    SESSIONS    OF    PARNASSUS.  223 

The  Judge  looks  dangerous  from  his  wrathful  eyes ; 

But  soon  relenting  at  that  genial  glance, 

He,  softening,  opens  thus  his  charge:  "Advance! 

We  should  example  make  of  one  so  rude : 

But  'mid  our  peers  and  gentle  sisterhood 

So  many  friends  make  interest  in  thy  cause 

That  rigorous  Justice  deigns  to  list,  and  pause." 

Replied  the  bard:  "  For  lack  of  courtesy, 

In  presence  such  as  this,  none  more  than  I     . 

Could  mourn  his  own  short-comings :  good  my  lord ! 

Thanks  to  ah1  friends  that  lent  me  favoring  word." 
"Enough!"  said  PHCEBUS,  as  he  waved  his  hand, 
"  On  graver  charge  we  've  called  thee  to  the  stand. 

"Where  is  the  lyre,  by  our  too  partial  love 

Confided,  when  thy  earliest  songs  were  wove, 

To  thy  twin-brother  (now  no  more)  and  thee  ? 

Dead  DRAKE  !  is  HALLECK,  then,  less  dead  than  he  ? 

Unstrung,  abandoned  to  the  dust,  that  lyre 

No  more  awakes  us  with  its  living  fire. 

Thy  precious  gifts  all  flung  ignobly  by, 

When  wings  should  give  the  energy  to  fly ; 

"With  voice,  lyre,  skill,  and  favoring  gods,  0  shame ! 

That  HALLECK  loiters  at  the  heels  of  Fame !" 

Quailed  the  poor  bard:  but  more  he  felt  the  smart 

Of  self-reproach,  that  stung  his  troubled  heart. 
"  Great  Judge  and  Sovereign,  thou  hast  justly  spoke ; 

"Without  excuse,  save  what  would  smiles  provoke. 

I  can  but  hint  that,  PEGASUS,  grown  old, 

Prefers  to  graze  him  in  the  quiet  fold ; 

And  marks  the  caperings,  with  solemn  eye, 

Of  reckless  colts  careering  through  the  sky ; 

And  hard  the  task,  in  this  poor  spavined  state, 

To  prick  the  veteran  to  a  decent  gait. 

"When  bards  advanced  would  float,  and  dream  again 

In  that  rare  half-way  heaven,  the  muses  reign, 

They  're  prone,  o'erbalanced  by  the  drowsy  god, 

To  topple  over  in  the  '  land  of  Nod.' 

And  't  were  not  wise,  with  rusty  lyre,  again 

To  claim  your  ears  with  my  old-fashioned  strain." 
"  By  Jove !  we  fear  not,"  shouts  the  god  of  day ; 


224  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  For  use  will  quickly  wear  the  rust  away : 
And  by  the  fame  thy  youth  so  richly  won, 
By  thy  land's  hopes  of  her  rare-gifted  son. 
By  that  posterity  which  looms  before, 
We  charge  you,  strike  that  injured  lyre  once  more ! 
Strike  home  I  and  fear  not  it  will  sound  in  vain ; 

'  Strike  1  for  your  altars  and  your  fires'  again ; 

'  Strike !  for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires,'  with  hand 
Of  thrilhng  sweep:  ' strike  for  your  native  land !'  " 

Here  general  plaudits  thundered  widely  round, 

That  all  Parnassus  echoed  with  the  sound. 

When  BACCHUS  rose  amid  the  general  roar, 
"  Order!"  cried  PHCEBUS :  "  give  the  god  the  floor !" 
"  Our  worthy  host !  your  judgments  are  most  sound  ; 

But  let  me  hint,  't  is  time  the  cup  went  round  ^ 

'T  is  hot,  near  you,  with  other  reasons  why, 

The  law  is  so  proverbially  dry." 
"  Ho  1  GANYMEDE  ;  a  stoup  of  nectar  fill : 

Or  something  stronger,  as  their  graces  will! 

"  Call  General  MORRIS  !"  From  behind  a  tree 
The  woodman  spared,  where  snugly  hid  was  he, 
Waiting  for  orders,  not  without  some  fears, 

"En  grande  tenue"  the  warrior  bard  appears: 
Salutes  his  great  commander,  and  his  lord ; 
But  trips,  embarrassed  by  his  own  good  sword. 
Tittered  the  muses,  strange  to  warrior's  gear, 
Save  MARS'  scant  uniform  of  helm  and  spear. 
Muttered  the  war-god  with  impatient  stamp: 

"  Some  carpet-knight  this ;  drum  him  from  the  camp !" 

"  Order !  sweet  friends !"  APOLLO  soothed  the  bard: 

"  Thou  'It  have  fair  hearing,  and  a  just  reward 
For  trophies  won  of  every  lyric  sort 
To  claim  the  favor  of  this  noble  court. 
Thy  casual  tripping  should  no  jest  afford ; 
'T  is  hard  to  climb  Parnassus  with  a  sword." 

"Thanks  for  your  grace,  my  chief!"  the  minstrel  sighed ; 

"  As  for  my  deeds,  from  earliest  youth  I  Ve  plied 
The  poet's  shuttle,  not  without  success, 
As  songs,  translated  in  all  tongues,  confess. 


THE    SESSIONS    OF   PARNASSUS.  225 

My  Croton  Ode,  sung  by  three  hundred  men, 

You  must  have  heard  it !  made  sensation  then. 

I  've  stood  the  fire  on  Independence  Day, 

And  braved  the  muddy  perils  of  Broadway." 
"That  needs  some  courage  1"  growled  the  god  of  war; 
"In  short,  great  king!  my  aim  has  been,  so  far 

As  strength  is  mine,  to  wield  the  sword  and  lyre. 

I  'm  called  the  "Western  KORNER  by  my  choir." 

APOLLO  smiled,  and  shook  his  radiant  head  : 
"  "Wouldst  serve  two  masters  ?  better  one  instead  ; 

For  MARS  disowns  thee,  and  each  muse  above 

Would  spurn  the  proffers  of  divided  love. 

Be  ruled  by  me,  and  hold  to  song  alone, 

Wherein  thy  genial  gifts  have  fairest  shown  : 

Touches  of  Nature  wed  with  graceful  Art 

That  rarely  fail  to  move  the  common  heart. 

Nor  seek  with  double  chaplets  to  be  crowned : 

One  KORNER  only  in  one  age  is  found ! 

"Now,  from  his  rural  mountain-home  afar, 

Go  summon  WILLIS  to  our  royal  bar !" 

He  comes ;  no  sooner  said  than  done  the  deed : 

More  swift  mercurial  than  electric  speed. 

To  whom  bright  PHOEBUS  :    "  Can  it  then  be  true 

That  thou,  too,  shunn'st  us  as  the  laggards  do  ? 

Thou !  whom  thy  lady-friends  with  zealous  glow 

Once  dubbed  '  a  young  APOLLO'  down  below  ?" 
"  Great  King  of  Rhyme-dom !  you  must  be  aware 

Nature's  a  feminality,  most  fair, 

Most  jealous,  too,  and  keeps  me  closely  tied, 

With  delving,  sowing,  reaping,  at  her  side. 

That  needs  my  'jottings'  be  confined  to  prose, 

And  '  oats-pease-bean-dom'  scarce  leaves  time  for  those." 
"  Plausibly  argued"  —  hero  APOLLO  smiled  — 
"To  shield  from  blame  thy  truly  idle  wild. 

Be  Nature  fair  —  sure  poets  should  rehearse 

Such  fairest  charms  in  fairest  strains  —  of  verse  j 

If  jealous,  surely  '  ballad  to  her  brow' 

Is  lover's  remedy  for  lover's  woe. 

Nature  's  no  Quaker ;  and  the  drab  of  prose 

Is  not  the  tint  to  represent  the  rose. 
15 


KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

No !  with  the  mated  songsters  of  the  spring 
Thy  very  lines  should  couple,  shine,  and  sing ! 
What !  live  'mid  birds,  without  an  answering  song  ? 
On  mountain-heights,  nor  soar  on  numbers  strong  ? 
Among  the  flowers,  nor  twine  one  lyric  wreath 
Of  grateful  tribute  for  their  fragrant  breath  ? 
'Mid  autumn- woods,  nor  paint  in  words  the  glow? 
By  streams,  nor  seek  in  limpid  verse  to  flow  ? 
By  cataracts  sit,  nor  tune  the  clarion  voice 
In  like  harmonious  echoes  to  rejoice  ? 
Canst  roam  the  dells  by  DIAN'S  mellow  blaze, 
Nor  weave  one  quiring  chaplet  in  her  praise  ? 
Canst  mark,  unsung,  the  Pleiades?  that  fret 
Like  silver-fishes  in  a  prisoning  net  ? 
Nor  seek  to  hum,  while  choral  stars  are  burning. 
The  music  of  their  golden  axles  turning? 
Degenerate  bard !  go  sow  your  fields  along 
With  the  light- winged,  far-roving  seed  of  song ! 
Song  such  as  cheered  you  when  an  unstained  child, 
Until  fresh  idyls  echo  through  your  wrildl" 

"  Call  PALMER  !  hold !  saving  too  little  done. 
Who  sings  so  well  needs  no  advice.     Pass  on ! 
Next  following,  comes  our  favorite,  HOFFMAX."     "Stay! 
MDJERVA  pleads  ;  "  now,  sacred  from  our  sway, 
He  walks  Hesperian  gardens,  plucking  fruit ; 
Or  groves  Elysian  in  some  flower-pursuit : 
There,  in  rare  dreams,  on  braver  wings  to  soar 
Than  even  his  gallant  fancy  dared  before.'' 
The  goddess  ceased :  all  read,  at  once,  that  heard. 
The  bard's  sad  fate  in  her  mysterious  word: 
Storm-driven,  wing-broken,  baffled,  whirling  still 
Through  the  same  heaven  where  he  had  plied  at,  will; 
And  all  recalled  the  long,  o'ershadowed  }rears 
Of  his  waste- wanderings  with  unbidden  tears! 

"Now  summon  PAULDING  from  his  snug  retreat!" 

He  moves  sedately  to  the  judgment-seat. 
"What  purpose,  Sire!  subpoenaed  from  afar, 

Juror  or  witness,  bids  me  to  thy  bar?" 
"No  witness  thou!  thyself  defendant  art. 


THE    SESSIONS    OF    PARNASSUS.  227 

Attend!"  cried  PHCEBUS,  "and  I  will  impart: 
In  youth  you  nattered  me  with  song  and  lute, 
Courted  my  sisters  with  impassioned  suit ; 
Half- won,  then  jilted,  first  for  vulgar  prose, 
And  last  for  thorny  office,  spurned  the  rose ; 
Ever  earth -plodding,  though  full- winged  for  air. 
Bethink  you,  Sir!  if  't  is  not  hard  to  bear?" 
Replied  the  bard :  "My  lord!  't  is  soon  confessed; 
I  Ve  had  my  school-boy  fancies,  like  the  rest ; 
But  riper  years,  and  themes  of  deeper  truth 
Chased,  as  they  should,  the  follies  of  my  youth." 
Here  a  deep  murmur  rose ;  nor  only  this ; 
Among  the  muses  something  like  a  hiss  ; 
So  sharp  a  fling  to  rouse  the  god  was  sure. 
""Would  that  thy  manhood's  follies  were  as  pure! 
The  games  of  wealth  and  power  are  noble  joys ! 
While  song,  great  gods !  is  well  enough  for  boys ! 
Your  worldly  wisdom,  Sir,  is  but  half-wise. 
Then,  know  you  not  that  feeling,  at  the  rise, 
Like  mountain-stream,  flows  purest  from  its  spring  ? 
And  early  loves  are  of  Heaven's  whispering  ? 
Aye !  the  song-bias  that  the  young  heart  cheers 
Betrays  its  kindred  to  harmonious  spheres." 

"  Pardon,  my  lord !  I  had  no  thought  to  wound 

Your  party-feelings  here  on  your  own  ground ; 

"Where  such  majorities  are  on  your  side 

To  'take  the  stump'  were  rash."  the  bard  replied; 
"  I  would  but  say  —  what  might  be  left  unsaid  — 

That  by  the  favor  of  the  nation's  head 

I  rose,  you  know,  to  honors  in  the  state ; 

And  those  who  once  have  mated  with  the  great 

Should  guard  their  dignity,  and  keep  them  free 

From  light  amusements,  graceful  though  they  be. 

In  this,  'gainst  Poesy  I  take  no  part ; 

Which,  in  its  way,  is  quite  a  pretty  art." 

Here  groans  tumultuous  through  the  court  are  stirred, 

While  over  all  APOLLO'S  voice  is  heard. 

Scornful,  and  radiant  in  his  heavenly  ire, 

He  stood  sublime !  and  poured  his  words  of  fire: 


KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  Now  by  the  gods  that  high  Olympus  throng ; 

By  the  shrined  masters  of  triumphant  song ; 

By  this  melodious  sisterhood,  I  swear, 

This  railing  tongue  is  more  than  gods  can  bear ! 
•A  pretty  art!'  the  trophies  of  whose  pride 

Survive  all  else  when  states  themselves  have  died. 

'A  pretty  art !'     The  Greek's,  that  held  all  ears 

Bound  to  his  harp  for  thrice  a  thousand  years ; 

Or  his  of  Avon,  while  whose  lyre  was  strung, 

APOLLO'S  own  was  on  the  willows  hung 

A  '  light  amusement'  were  his  rapturous  lays, 

"Who  'scorned  delights,'  and  lived  laborious  days. 

Immortal  labor !  whose  renown  shall  soar 

Till  blooms  the  Eden  of  his  song  once  more !" 

Paused  the  proud  god ;  to  whom  replied,  unquailed, 

The  stolid  minstrel:  "Sire!  I  've  not  assailed 

The  bard's  renown ;  yet  stands  it  not  alone ; 

The  statesman's  fame  is  no  unworthy  one. 

There  's  BACON "     "  Granted !"  broke  the  impatient  god , 

"  Nay,  more ;  his  name  most  warmly  would  I  laud, 

Who  serves  his  state  in  senate  or  in  field. 

The  bard's  supremacy  I  can  not  yield. 

Though  poor,  though  worthless  in  surrounding  eyes, 

He  has  the  leaven  that  will  make  him  rise, 

"Where  reigning  great  ones  vainly  seek  to  climb, 

But  sink  to  silence  with  the  dregs  of  time. 

"What  most  endure,  though  seeming  weak,  most  strong, 

Are  words  made  buoyant  by  the  wings  of  song ; 

That  seem  to  lift  them  to  a  calmer  air. 

Where  earth's  abrading  forces  can  not  wear: 

So  near  the  stars'  harmonious,  glowing  clime, 

They  catch  their  lustre,  and  perennial  chime ! 

All  that  would  bloom  through  tune  for  ever  young 

Must  sing  as  bards,  or  else  by  bards  be  sung ; 

Must  in  the  flow  of  amber  verse  be  drowned ; 

In  web  of  song's  embalming  priest  be  wound. 

Surest  of  balms!  of  all  the  precious  spoils 

Of  spicy  Araby,  or  tropic  isles. 

Mark  the  dim  glories  of  the  shadowy  past ! 

So  mighty  once,  how  could  they  fail  to  last  ? 

Where  now  the  honors  of  the  haughty  great  ? 


THE    SESSIONS    OF   PARNASSUS.  229 

"Where  the  strong  laws  that  riveted  the  state  ? 
Or  they  that  made  them,  or  that  by  them  ruled? 
How  has  stern  Time  their  windy  pride  befooled ! 
Whirled  them,  and  sunk  them  as  he  swiftly  bore, 
Or  strewed  in  wrecks  on  his  remorseless  shore ! 
Man's  works  must  crumble ;  even  Art,  most  strong ; 
And  naught  endures  but  Truth  and  mighty  Song ! 

"Who  were  High  Chancellors  in  HOMER'S  day? 
What  lordling's  chariot  brushed  him  by  the  way? 
What  man  of  power  that  voice  of  ages  hired 
To  while  a  dull  hour  when  his  grace  was  tired  ? 
None  answer,  while  the  minstrel's  song  of  fire 
Comes  to  our  ears,  as  from  a  seraph-choir, 
As  fresh,  as  living  as  when  poured  the  tone 
From  the  blind  harper  sitting  on  his  stone  I 
Think  you  MEOENAS  had  survived  the  dead 
Had  he  not  linked  him  with  the  bards  he  fed  ? 
Then  they  were  great  because  the  great  man  smiled,  . 
And  drew  false  fame  from  him  for  whom  they  toiled. 
Now,  turned  the  tables,  't  is  their  buoyant  lays 
Have  borne  his  honors  to  succeeding  days. 
You  spoke  of  BACON,  not  because  of  place, 
But,  spite  of  it,  he  won  th'  immortal  race. 
Blending  all  powers,  he  mastered  law  and  fact, 
But  'of  imagination  all  compact,' 
To  bold  invention's  loftiest  peaks  arose, 
And  was  a  poet  in  the  garb  of  prose. 
Great  statesmen  lived,  not  breathing  air  sublime, 
Howe'er  renowned,  they  perished  with  then*  time. 
Laws  are  man's  pride ;  and  every  praise  we  yield 
The  wise  who  frame  them,  or  the  strong  who  wield ; 
Needful,  like  bread,  in  man's  imperfect  state 
To  body  politic  or  corporate : 
The  means  of  life ;  but,  health  and  order  found, 
What  is  the  end  by  which  the  whole  is  crowned  ? 
The  flower  of  this  well-fed  and  rooted  tree  ? 
Oh !  need  I  say  it  ?  't  is  sweet  Poesy ! 
Who  takes  our  arm  in  childhood's  roving  hours, 
To  lead  us  wondering  through  fresh  fairy  bowers ; 
Admits,  through  sunset's  golden  bars,  the  gaze 


230  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

To  inner  temples  of  imperial  blaze ; 
Uplifts  the  rainbow,  a  triumphal  arch 
Sprung  over  hosts  angelic  on  their  march ; 
Throws  us  on  clouds  to  bask,  or  softly  slides, 
Voluptuous  rushing  I  down  then-  fleecy  sides : 
Whose  wondrous  chemistry  transforms  the  mist 
That  robes  the  hills  to  veils  of  amethyst ; 
O'er  common  objects  holds  a  glass  of  rose, 
And  common  paths  with  hopeless  blossoms  sows ; 
And  shading  ruin  with  her  ivy-wreath, 
She  crowns  with  amaranth  the  brow  of  Death ; 
Cloaking  the  scars  of  evil  that  we  see, 
To  make  things  seem  as  we  would  have  them  be. 
Always  in  season,  her  sweet,  constant  flowers, 
To  grace  our  festive  or  our  mourning  hours. 
Yes  I  Poesy  was  sent  to  fallen  earth 
To  wake  afresh  the  graces  of  its  birth. 
'T  is  hers  '  to  gild  refined  gold'  alone, 
And  '  lilies  paint'  with  hues  that  quench  their  own ; 
Still  garlanding  young  beauty  with  her  flowers ; 
Still  dropping  honey  on  our  sweetest  hours  1 
'Mid  odors  wafting  us  from  birth  to  doom, 
To  wake,  half-risen  to  the  heaven  to  come !" 

"  How  poor  the  power  of  statesmen,  sages,  kings ! 
To  his  whose  words,  abroad  on  mighty  wings, 
(Sun-drawn  exhalings  of  th'  eternal  seas!) 
Eush  over  nations  with  their  tempest-breeze ! 
O'ershadowing,  thundering,  showering  in  all  parts; 
Watering  the  growing  graces  of  all  hearts ! 
That  in  all  moods  that  range  from  smiles  to  tears, 
Come  humming  like  sweet  birds  about  our  ears ; 
Drowning  our  groans,  and  setting  husky  sighs 
To  tenderest  music,  while  our  dancing  joys 
Tread  double  measure  when  those  pipes  do  play. 
And  when  poor  life  is  foundering,  and  gives  way, 
Like  hovering  seraphs  through  the  breakers'  roar 
Pilot  the  spirit  to  the  tranquil  shore  I 

41  Above,  around,  we  find  no  deep  recess 
Their  music  reaches  not,  to  rouse  or  bless ; 


THE    SESSIONS    OF    PARNASSUS.  231 

Quickening  the  traveller's  step  to  measure  time 
Unwearied,  with  th'  imperial  march  of  rhyme ; 
Cheering  brown  Toil,  and  when  the  day  grows  dim 
Hallowing  his  musings  with  their  evening  hymn. 
The  infant's  lullaby,  the  mother's  prayer, 
The  soldier's  charge,  the  lover's  fond' despair 
Sweetening  the  moonlight  with  his  murmuring; 
All  loftiest  soarings  from  his  numbers  spring. 
The  patriot  glows  that  feels  the  poet's  dart 
Flaming  and  piercing,  while  the  pious  heart 
Mounts  in  adoring  rapture,  and  high  praise 
To  heavenly  portals  on  his  white-winged  lays!" 

The  Judge,  exhausted,  rested  from  his  text 
Till  cheered  with  nectar:  " Summon  FLACCUS  next 
Not  great  HORATIUS  of  immortal  fame: 
The  modern  wit  that  has  usurped  his  name. 
Swift  HERMES  flew  by  forest,  stream,  and  heath, 
At  length  returning,  gasped,  quite  out  of  breath, 
"  I  Ve  bawled  till  hoarse,  and  vainly,  Sire !  't  is  clear 
He  's  so  far  down  the  hill  he  can  not  hear; 
Or  thinks,  discreetly  hiding  from  all  eyes, 
"When  hail-stones  fall  to  keep  within  is  wise." 

"  Who  's  next ?    MARK  BENJAMIN !"    "  My  lord !  't  is  PARK  !" 
"PARK!  PARK!  art  sure?    Well,  call  him !    Stay!  hark!  hark!" 

Here  thunders  muttered  rudely  overhead. 

Great  PHCEBUS  paused;  while  BACCHUS  rose  and  said: 
"Your  Grace  must  not  forget  we  dine  above 

On  high  Olympus,  at  the  'quest  of  JOVE  ; 

And  if  aright  these  murmurings  I  read, 

The  Thunderer  grows  impatient "     "True,  indeed." 

Quoth  PHCEBUS;  "  MERCURY  !  we  're  pressed  for  time ; 

Call  you  the  list.    "We  '11  score  these  sons  of  rhyme. 

Nor  need  they  wriggle,  should  we  prick  their  nerves ; 

For  spice,  more  sure  than  blandest  sweet,  preserves : 

Safe  in  the  pickle  of  our  pungent  line, 

That  longest  keeps,  when  strongest  is  the  brine!" 

"  Here 's  MOORE  !"    "  Respectable."    "  Here 's  SMITH  !"    "  Pass  on  I" 
"  RALPH  HOYT  !"     "  His  spiriting  is  gently  done." 


232 


KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  Here 's  COXE  !"     "  Diffuse."     "  Here 's  RICHARD  HAYWARDE  !" 

"Better." 

"Here 's  CHEEVER'S  florid  muse !"     "I  never  met  her." 
"Next,  ALDRICH!"   "Humph!"    "AndTucKEBJiANl"   "Well!  well!" 
"  And  STODDARD  1"     "  Quaint  —  yet  blows  a  dainty  shell." 
"CRANCH!"     "Paints  well."     "OsuoRXl"     " Shows  us  in  his  line 

The  'Vision,'*  not  the  faculty  divine." 
"  WALLACE  I"     "He 's  strong  —  stay  HERMES  !  let  us  see  — 

What  did  he  write  ?"     "  And  HUNTIXGTOX  ! "     "  Who 's  he ?" 
"  Here 's  TAYLOR  !"    "  Bold."     "  BETHUNE  !"    "  Make  haste  1  my  lad." 
"FAYl"     "Not  too  good."     "And  MATIIEWS!"     "Not  too  bad." 
"  She-Bards,  strong-minded,  big  with  women's  wrongs 

Come  next."     "  Do  n't  touch  them  with  a  pair  of  tongs !" 

Here  louder  thunderings  all  the  welkin  shook. 
"  Call  up  the  rest  of  Dr.  GRISWOLD'S  book ! 

At  least,  all  minstrels  that  from  Gotham  hail." 

On  tliis,  there  gathered,  following  HERMES'  trail, 

A  motley  crew  of  varied  power  and  grade. 

Far  down,  a  group  of  laggards  shout  for  aid : 
"  Help,  there !  good  MERCURY  !  't  is  the  toughest  hill ! 

And  we  're  quite  blown "     "  Who  wake  these  echoes  shrill?" 

"  Sire !  these  are  followers  of  the  camp  of  rhyme, 

Swollen  with  the  wish  without  the  breath  to  climb ; 

Some,  novelists,  that  give  us  no  new  thing ; 

Translators  some,  that  nothing  with  them  bring ; 

Some,  wrights  of  plays;  all  dullest  sport  exceeding; 

Some,  lecturers,  whose  tasks  betray  no  reading, 

Whose  fat  vocation  threatens  to  command 

All  unrewarded  talent  of  the  land. 

All  stoop  to  song  when  they  can  tune  afford ; 

And  feed  the  Muse  with  droppings  of  their  board. 

As  if  their  crumbs  her  pride  could  fail  to  spurn, 

When  their  choice  dishes  would  her  stomach  turn ! 

Rank  borrowers  these,  though  that  is  nothing  rare, 

For  such,  somewhat,  their  laurelled  elders  are, 

Only  more  cunningly  the  theft  concealing. 

Tour  Grace  will  pass  so  light  a  fault  as  stealing  ?" 
"We  '11  pass  them  wholly!"  burst  th'  indignant  god; 
"  Nor  waste  on  vanity  the  hopeless  rod. 

*  The  Vision  of  Rubeta. 


THE    SESSIONS    OF    PARNASSUS.  233 

Let  groundlings  bend  their  strength  to  fitlier  things ; 

Parnassus'  heights  are  only  won  by  wings!" 
"  Pass  on !     What  hungry  group  now  stops  the  way  ?;' 
"  Sire !  these  be  wights  of  larger  wit  than  pay ; 

Some,  care-worn  scribblers  for  th'  exacting  press, 

Booksellers'  hacks,  reviewers,  in  their  stress 

Obliged,  on  hire,  applause  or  blame  to  utter 

At  a  hard  master's  beck,  for  bread  and  butter; 

And  some,  too  noble,  't  is  relief  to  think, 

To  dip  their  free  pens  in  corrosive  ink." 

So  dense  a  litter  of  prolific  rhyme, 

Parnassus  ne'er  had  harbored  at  a  time : 

To  whom  the  Judge:  "  Forgive  unseemly  haste ! 

Most  worthy  friends !  but  there  's  no  time  to  waste. 

Some  have  done  well,  though  here  some  doubt  may  rise ; 

Some  ill  —  this  truth  there  's  no  body  denies. 

Hail !  and  farewell !  we  charge  you,  to  a  man, 

For  HEAVEN'S  sake,  write  better,  if  you  can ! 

The  Court 's  adjourned!"    At  once  the  Muses  raise 

A  joyous  choral  in  APOLLO'S  praise. 

The  god  bows  thanks ;  his  dazzling  car  ascends, 

And  gives  his  last  charge  to  his  thronging  friends : 

"  Bards  of  the  West !  your  country  claims  your  voice. 
Mark  how  old  Europe's  hills  and  streams  rejoice ! 
Happy  with  minstrels  to  announce  their  name 
To  every  passing  age,  with  proud  acclaim. 
Sound !  sound  the  lyre !  't  is  PHOEBUS'  last  command : 
(jlrand,  ringing  rhymes  should  peal  around  the  land. 
Clear  the  fogged  heavens  with  new  thunder-strokes ! 
Strike  with  a  fire  to  rend  all  hearts  like  oaks ! 
Mountains  are  groaning  for  a  lyric  name ; 
Rivers  implore  the  choral  wreath  of  Fame ; 
Cataracts  are  shouting  for  young  minstrelsy 
To  set  their  roar  to  music  not  to  die. 
Sound !  sound  the  lyre !  your  heroes,  slain  too  long, 
Start  from  the  field  to  claim  new  life  of  Song. 
Your  brothers'  blood  calls  loudly  from  the  ground. 
Sound !  ere  the  martyred  ghosts  confound  you,  sound ! 
Let  them  not  die  a  second  death,  more  sad, 
From  lapse  of  aught  your  saving  art  might  add. 


234  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Sound !  for  the  land's  gray  fathers,  yet  once  more, 

Whose  mighty  shadows  cloud  the  Stygian  shore ; 

Launch  their  proud  names  on  ever-rushing  rhyme ! 

Shrine  them  in  niches  to  confront  all  time ! 

Set  their  bold  portraits  in  the  golden  frame 

Of  song!  and  hang  them  on  the  walls  of  fame!" 

APOLLO  ceased,  and  waved  his  last  adieu ! 
Seized  on  the  reins,  and  dashed  along  the  blue. 
The  crowd,  dissolving,  scattered  down  the  hill. 
Homeward  I  followed,  shocked  to  witness  still 
As  each,  returning,  went  his  usual  round, 
"What  poor  return  the  god's  good  counsel  found. 
BRYAXT  went  scribbling  "leaders"  as  before; 
And  WILLIS,  prosy  idyls  yet  once  more ; 
While  drowsy  HALLECK  laid  him  in  his  cloak, 
To  close  the  nap  the  intruding  god  had  broke  : 
So  must  advice  unrelished  be  put  by ! 
Once  more  I  turned  me  to  the  glowing  sky, 
Fired  by  the  glory  of  APOLLO'S  car, 
O'er  sapphire  pavement  spinning  fast  and  far, 
When  the  rude  poker  woke  me  with  a  clang ! 
The  bubble  burst !  the  coursers  diverse  sprang ! 
And  through  the  dazzling  fragments,  all  amazed, 
On  the  tame  glory  of  the  grate  I  gazed ! 
Who  jogged  my  elbow  ?     Was  it  goddess  fair  ? 
Or  Muse  to  charm  me  with  a  chaunted  air? 
Or  GANYMEDE,  with  nectar  held  to  me  ? 
Only  good  spouse  with  cup  of  homely  tea! 


JL* 


IT       T.     H.LXIK.Y*:*       MTZXS. 


tie  jtnjtrtiuJ 

_  .  ^ -   -       .   : ._     . .      .     _  . 

-Don't  yoa  da  it.  Getty 


236  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

stock  to  be  disposed  of,  and  rents  to  be  collected,  I  shall  go  crazy  ;  I 
know  I  shall.  I  must  have  an  agent." 

"  What  for,  then,  would  you  have  an  agent  ?"  said  the  dame,  in  a 
loud  key,  scowling  meanwhile  over  the  black  rims  of  her  spectacles. 
"  To  cheat  you  out  of  every  thing,  and  grow  rich  on  your  money, 
hey  ?" 

"No,  Aunt;  some  good,  reliable  man " 

"  Good,  reliable  fiddlestick,  Getty  !" 

"  I  say  no,  Aunt." 

"  I  say  yes,  child.  He  will  charge  you  half  for  taking  care  of 
your  property  ;  and  he  '11  run  away  with  the  rest.  Do  n't  talk  to  me 
about  agents." 

Getty  had  never  divested  herself  of  the  dread  with  which,  from 
childhood,  she  had  regarded  her  scolding  relative,  and  so,  without 
fully  resolving  either  to  carry  or  yield  the  point,  she  sought  to  escape 
further  altercation,  at  present,  by  not  pressing  it. 

"  But  these  repairs,  aunt,"  she  said,  "  which  are  so  much  needed 
for  these  poor  men  7" 

"  It  is  no  such  thing !  There  are  no  repairs  wanted.  Why,  one 
would  think  the  houses  and  fences  had  all  tumbled  down  the  moment 
poor  Baltus  was  gone.  It  is  no  such  thing,  I  say.  They  are  well 
enough.  I  have  been  in  every  house  on  the  estate  within  a  fortnight, 
and  they  are  well  enough." 

"  But  Mr.  Jones,  who  has  eight  children,  can  't  make  his  rent  out 
of  the  farm." 

"  Let  him  give  it  up,  then,  to  some  one  who  can  What  business 
has  he  with  so  many  children  f 

"And  Mr.  Smith  has  lost  one  of  his  best  oxen." 

"  He  must  take  better  care  of  his  oxen,  then.  He  need  not 
expect  us  to  pay  him  for  it ;  I  can  tell  him  that." 

"  But  I  gave  him  ten  dollars,  at  all  events,"  replied  Getty,  not 
without  alarm. 

"Ten  dollars,  child!  Well  now,  did  ever  any  body  hear  the 
like  of  that  ?  Ten  dollars  to  that  idle,  whimpering  fellow  !  Why, 
Getty,  you  will  be  in  the  poor-house  in  a  year,  if  that  is  the  way 
you  are  going  on  ;  that  you  will.  Ten  dollars  /" 


A    DUTCH    BELLE.  237 

Becky  could  hardly  throw  accent  enough  upon  these  two  words 
to  express  her  appreciation  of  the  magnitude  of  the  waste. 

"  I  dare  say  it  was  too  much,"  said  Getty,  who  had  always  been 
accustomed  to  give  way  to  her  imperious  aunt,  and  had  not  the 
courage  to  disenthral  herself  from  her  tyranny,  "  but  he  told  a  very 
pitiful  story." 

"Yes,  yes  !  they'll  tell  pitiful  stories  enough,  if  they  can  only  find 
any  one  silly  enough  to  believe  them.  But  I  '11  see  to  it  that  there  is 
no  more  such  throwing  away  of  Baltus's  money.  Give  me  the  key !" 

Getty  submissively  took  from  a  side-pocket  a  small  bunch  of 
keys,  and  slipping  the  smallest  off  the  steel-ring  which  held  them 
together,  handed  it  to  her  aunt.  No  sooner,  however,  had  she  done 
so  than  the  absurdity  of  the  command  and  compliance  became 
apparent  to  her,  and,  with  rising  wrath,  she  was  about  to  recall  her 
act,  when  her  eyes  met  the  dark  scowl  of  the  old  lady,  and  yielding 
to  the  force  of  habit,  she  remained  quiet. 

Now  Becky's  conduct,  harsh  as  it  seemed,  was  altogether  caused 
by  excessive  anxiety  for  her  niece's  interest;  for  she  was,  to  the 
full  extent,  as  honest  as  she  was  crabbed.  She  felt  her  responsibility 
as  the  only  surviving  adult  relative  of  her  brother,  and  as  a  sort 
of  natural  guardian  both  of  the  heiress  and  her  estates,  a  position 
which  she  was  by  no  means  desirous  of  retaining  longer  than  the  wel 
fare  of  Gertrude  required  it. 

Her  only  hope  of  relief  from  her  self-imposed  duties  was  in 
seeing  Gertrude  married  to  some  "  stiddy,  sober  man ;"  but  on  this 
point  she  had  a  morbid  anxiety  even  greater  than  that  which  related 
to  the  property  ;  for  she  was  in  constant  trepidation  lest  the  heiress 
should  fall  a  victim  to  some  needy  fortune-hunter,  in  which  class  she 
ranked  all  suitors  who  did  not  follow  the  plough,  and  wear  homespun. 
She  even  went  so  far  as  to  question  more  than  one  presuming  beau 
as  to  his  intentions ;  and  one  timid  young  man  who  had  been  a  whole 
month  accumulating  courage  enough  to  make  a  first  call  upon  Ger 
trude,  was  so  frightened  by  the  fierce  manner  in  which  Aunt  Becky 
asked  him  what  he  wanted,  that  he  only  stammered  out  something 
about  having  got  into  the  wrong  house,  and  retreated  without  ever 
seeing  the  object  of  his  hopes. 


238 


KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 


Strangely  enough  too,  although  Getty  knew  her  aunt's  conduct  in 
this  instance,  and  her  general  asperity  toward  gentlemen  visitors,  she 
did  not  seem  to  resent  it,  or  to  be  rendered  at  all  unhappy  by  it ; 
nay,  she  was  even  suspected  of  rejoicing  at  so  easy  a  mode  of  escap 
ing  the  persecution  of  lovers.  She  was  unwilling,  however,  that  the 
imputation  of  inhospitality  or  impoliteness  should  rest  upon  her 
family ;  and  on  this  point  she  remonstrated  with  the  duenna. 

"  Let  the  molly-yhaeks  stay  at  home,  then,"  said  Becky.  "  What 
business  have  they  to  come  here  '  sparking  ]'  Let  them  stay  at  home, 
and  when  we  want  them  we  '11  send  for  them." 

How  and  when  Harry  Vrail's  acquaintance  with  Gertrude  began, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  say;  but  for  several  preceding  years  his  hunt 
ing  excursions  had  seemed  to  extend  more  often  through  her  father's 
forests  than  in  any  other  direction ;  and  the  silvery  stream  which 
tinkled  across  the  meadows  of  Mynheer  Van  Kleeck  afforded  the 
finest-flavored  trout,  in  Harry's  estimation,  of  the  whole  country 
around.  It  was  natural  enough  for  him,  on  these  expeditions,  to  stop 
occasionally  and  chat  with  old  Baltus  on  his  stoop  ;  and  sometimes  to 
leave  a  tribute  of  his  game  with  the  proprietor  of  the  domain  on 
which  it  was  bagged. 

If  a  string  of  finer  fish  than  usual  rewarded  his  afternoon's  labors 
the  larger  half  was  sure  to  be  left  at  Baltus's  door,  despite  all 
resistance ;  and  then  the  servant  was  to  be  instructed  in  the  art  of 
dressing  them,  and  Getty  was  to  be  taught  the  mystery  of  cooking 
them,  in  the  way  which  should  best  preserve  their  flavor. 

Sometimes,  too,  the  fatigued  youth  could  be  induced,  at  the  close 
of  the  day,  to  remain  and  see  if  his  instructions  were  properly  fol 
lowed,  and  at  the  bountiful  board  of  the  Dutchman,  his  seat  chanced 
ever  to  be  beside  that  of  Getty,  who  saw  that  he  received  of  the 
choicest  portions  of  his  own  gifts.  How  she  loaded  his  plate,  too, 
with  dainties  drawn  from  dark  closets,  the  key  of  which  was  seldom 
turned,  save  on  such  occasions  as  this!  How  the  thickest  cream 
filled  the  old-fashioned  silver  cream-pot  to  the  brim,  and  was  half- 
emptied  over  Harry's  strawberries,  or  on  Harry's  currants,  while  with 
her  own  white  hand,  she  pitched  the  large  wheaten  slices,  quoit-like, 


A    DUTCH    BELLE.  239 

around  his  plate,  enjoining  upon  him  in  the  most  approved  fashion  of 
Dutch  hospitality  —  to  eat ! 

Nor  did  Harry  always  find  himself  sufficiently  refreshed  to  start 
for  home  as  soon  as  the  evening  meal  was  finished.  From  the  table 
to  the  long  covered  stoop  was  a  natural  and  easy  transition,  for  there 
the  air  was  fresh  and  cool ;  and  while  Baltus  planted  himself,  puffing. 
in  his  favorite  corner,  and  his  silent  vrow  sat  knitting  and  musing  at 
his  side,  and  pussy,  unreproved,  now  dandled  the  good  dame's  ball  of 
yarn  in  her  paws,  and  now,  tapping  it  fiercely,  pursued  it  rolling  far 
across  the  floor ;  while  the  swallows  darted  daringly  inside  the  pillars, 
and  skimming  close  to  the  ceiling,  flew  chirping  out  at  the  farthest- 
opening,  Harry  and  Getty  chatted  and  laughed  together,  talking 
only  on  common  themes,  it  is  true,  yet  at  times  in  tones  which  might 
have  been  mistaken,  by  one  who  had  not  caught  the  words,  for  tones 
of  love. 

And  there  was  a  time,  when  yet  Harry's  father  was  alive,  and  was 
a  man  of  wealth,  that  the  young  man  dreamed  of  love.  It  was  prc* 
sumptuous,  he  knew,  in  him,  even  then,  to  look  up  to  one  so  fair  and 
pure  as  sweet  Gertrude  seemed  to  him,  and  one  for  whom  so  many 
worthier  than  himself  would  be  certain  to  aspire.  Yet  he  could  not 
refrain  from  hoping,  though  with  so  faint  a  heart  that  he  never  found 
courage  to  declare,  or  even  most  remotely  to  hint  at,  the  love  which 
consumed  him.  But  if,  while  he  was  the  prospective  heir  of  great 
wealth,  he  felt  thus  unworthy  of  the  object  of  his  admiration,  how 
widely,  hopelessly  yawned  the  gulf  of  separation  between  them 
when  positive  poverty  became  his  lot !  With  a  pang  of  unspeakable 
intensity,  he  dismissed  the  bright  vision  which  had  gilded  his  heart, 
and  sought  no  more  to  recall  so  painful  and  illusive  a  dream. 

Yet,  strangely  enough,  while  he  held  himself  thus  unworthy  of 
Gertrude,  and  considered  that  his  changed  position  precluded  him 
from  the  right  to  offer  her  his  hand,  he  saw  no  such  obstacles  in  the 
way  of  his  brilliant  cousin  Tom,  now  about  to  enter,  with  a  victor's 
stride,  upon  that  field  which  he  had  so  ingloriously  relinquished. 

A  very  young  lawyer  was  Tom ;  decidedly  handsome,  and  pos 
sessing  a  moderate  amount  of  talent,  flanked  by  a  most  immoderate 
and  inordinate  vanity.  But,  in  Harry's  estimation,  his  merits  were 


240  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

so  many,  and  his  fortunes  so  sure,  that  he  might  almost  be  entitled  to 
wed  a  princess ;  and  although  he  was  incensed,  he  was  not  surprised 
at  the  very  confident  tone  in  which  the  young  disciple  of  Themis  had 
spoken  of  winning  the  beautiful  Gertrude,  if  he  chose.  Harry 
thought  so  himself:  he  had  often  thought  of  it  before,  and  had  won 
dered  why  his  cousin  had  never  seemed  to  notice  this  sparkling  jewel 
in  his  path,  any  more  than  if  it  were  but  common  crystal. 

But  true  love,  even  when  hopeless,  instinctively  revolts  at  the 
idea  of  seeing  the  beloved  object  won  by  another,  however  worthy ; 
and  Harry,  although  not  without  some  upbraidings  of  conscience,  had 
carefully  abstained  from  saying  any  thing  which  should  set  the  cur 
rent  of  Tom's  thoughts  in  the  direction  of  the  great  prize  he  had  dis 
covered.  Very  great,  therefore,  was  his  alarm,  when  his  good  grand- 
sire  had  made  his  abrupt  suggestion,  and  when  Tom  so  coarsely  and 
ungraciously  seemed  to  approve  it.  Yet  he  suppressed  his  great 
grief,  and  replied  truthfully  to  his  cousin's  inquiry,  failing,  in  his 
abundant  charity,  to  perceive  the  utter  selfishness  which  had  so 
entirely  overlooked  himself,  or  any  predilections  which  he  might 
entertain. 

He  even  acceded  to  his  friend's  request  to  accompany  him  on  his 
first  visit  to  Getty ;  not  because  any  formal  introduction  was  needed, 
for  there  had  been  a  slight  acquaintance  existing  between  all  the  par 
ties  from  childhood,  but  because  Tom  thought  it  would  serve  to  put 
him  at  once  on  a  better  and  more  familiar  footing  with  the  heiress. 
And  so  it  did.  Getty  was  delighted  to  see  the  cousins,  for  the  lonely 
child  had  few  visitors,  and  she  appreciated  the  kindness  which  remem 
bered  her  bereavement  and  her  isolation.  So  very  amiable  and  cheer 
ful  did  she  appear,  so  naturally  graceful  and  winning,  especially  when 
conversing  with  Harry,  with  whom  she  was  best  acquainted,  that  Tom 
was  positively  delighted  with  her,  and  on  his  return  homeward,  he 
announced  his  fixed  determination  to  offer  himself  within  a  week. 

"Won't  she  be  astonished1?"  he  said. 

"It  will  be  rather  abrupt,"  replied  Harry.  "She  will  hardly 
expect  it  so  soon." 

"  Very  probable  ;  but  when  a  thing  is  to  be  done,  the  sooner  it  is 
accomplished  the  better.  Beside,  it  would  be  scarcely  fair  to  keep 
her  hi  suspense." 


A    DUTCH    BELLE.  241 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right." 

"  I  shall  not  hurry  her  to  fix  the  day,  you  know,  but  I  abhor  long 
courtships ;  and  these  things  can  be  as  well  settled  in  a  week  as  in  a 
year." 

"  But  if 

"  No,  no ;  a  '  but'  and  an  '  if  are  quite  too  much  in  one  sentence. 
I  tell  you  I  have  no  fears.  She  may  possibly  be  engaged  to  some 
boor ;  but  even  then,  Harry,  I  think  it  could  be  managed ;  do  n't 
you?" 

"  I  do  not  think  she  is  engaged ;  certainly  not  to  any  one  unwor 
thy  of  her." 

"  Then  we  are  on  safe  ground,"  said  Tom,  with  hilarity.  "  She 
seems  a  nice  girl,  and  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  get  on  capitally  toge 
ther.  She  shall  soon  lead  a  different  sort  of  life  from  her  present 
one,  cooped  up  in  an  old  brown  farm-house,  with  a  dragon  to  guard 
her.  Won't  she  open  her  eyes  when  we  go  to  the  city,  and  when  she 
gets  into  New-York  society  f 

Harry  began  to  open  his  eyes  a  little,  a  very  little,  to  his  cousins' 
character ;  but  the  force  of  education  was  strong,  and  he  had  been 
taught  to  believe  Tom  almost  perfect :  so  his  invincible  good  nature 
was  busy  in  meliorating  the  harsh  views  which  he  was  at  first  dis 
posed  to  take  of  his  conduct,  and  in  inventing  excuses  for  him. 
Beside,  he  had  a  strong  affection  for  Tom,  which  he  believed  to  be 
fully  reciprocated,  and  he  did  not  doubt  that  Getty  would  inspire  him 
with  the  same  fervent  love  which  his  own  heart  had  once  felt,  and 
even  now  with  difficulty  suppressed. 

He  did  not  pursue  the  subject,  nor  return  to  it  again,  excepting 
when  compelled  to  do  so  by  the  other,  whose  exuberant  spirits  ran 
wild  in  contemplation  of  the  fortunate  change  which  he  was  about  to 
make  in  his  affairs,  and  who  could  not  cease  to  wonder  that  he  had 
never  before  discovered  such  an  obvious  opportunity  for  his  personal 
advancement.  The  more  he  thought  of  his  project,  the  more  deeply 
his  heart  was  set  upon  it,  and  so  bountifully  was  he  supplied  with 
that  quality  of  mind  which  Harry  most  lacked,  self-esteem,  that  he 
had  no  misgivings  as  to  success. 

*  *  ***** 

16 


242  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  WHAT  has  come  over  you,  then,  Getty,  that  you  have  been  sing- 
singing  all  the  time,  up  stairs  and  down,  for  these  two  days  —  hey  ?" 
said  Becky  to  her  niece,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  after  the 
visit  of  the  cousins  Vrail. 

"  Oh !  nothing,  aunty,"  said  Gertrude,  hesitating.  "  I  often  sing 
like  that ;  do  not  I  ?" 

"  Not  often,  I  hope.  I  have  counted  these  stitches  three  times, 
and  every  time  your  ring-te-iddlety  has  made  me  forget  how  many 
there  are." 

The  dame's  tone  was  severe ;  and  as  Getty  spied  the  old  scowl 
taking  shape  on  her  forehead,  she  retreated  to  her  own  room  to  sing 
away  the  remainder  of  the  evening  by  herself.  On  the  morrow,  also, 
her  heart  seemed  equally  light,  and  snatches  of  old  songs  were  escap 
ing  all  day  from  her  lips,  making  every  room  and  closet  vocal  with 
melody,  as  she  flitted  through  them  on  various  household  duties. 
Now  and  then  a  growl  responded  to  some  of  these  chirpings,  silencing 
them  for  a  while  only  to  break  forth  in  some  other  quarter  of  the 
house,  more  cheerily  than  ever.  As  evening  drew  nigh,  her  merri 
ment  gradually  subsided,  and  she  withdrew  to  her  own  apartment  in 
a  more  thoughtful  and  pensive  mood  —  not  long,  however,  to  remain 
unsought.  Her  heart  beat  quickly,  when,  listening,  she  heard  the 
voice  of  a  visitor  below,  and  far  quicker,  when  a  servant-girl  came  up 
and  informed  her  that  Mr.  Vrail  was  in  the  parlor,  and  wished  to 
see  her. 

Startled  but  not  surprised,  with  a  fluttering  heart  and  a  flushed 
face,  she  flew  to  the  glass  to  add  the  last  touch  to  the  simple  adorn 
ments  of  her  person,  and,  although  far  from  being  vain,  she  could  not 
forbear  contemplating  a  moment,  with  complacency,  the  sweet  pic 
ture  reflected  by  the  faithful  mirror. 

She  waited  a  little  while  for  her  agitation  to  subside ;  for,  with 
that  rapid  breath  and  heightened  color,  and  with  something  very  like 
a  tear  glistening  in  her  eye,  she  was  unwilling  to  meet  her  visitor ; 
but,  while  she  waited,  she  received  another  and  a  more  urgent  sum 
mons. 

"  You  had  better  come  down,  Miss  Gertrude,"  said  the  girl,  who 
seemed  to  guess  that  her  young  mistress  was  expecting  a  not  unwel- 


A    DUTCH    BELLE.  243 

come  visitor ;  "  you  had  better  come  down,  for  your  aunt  Becky  is 
getting  ready  to  go  in  and  see  the  gentleman." 

This  announcement  did  not  have  a  tendency  to  allay  Miss  Van 
Kleeck's  excitement,  but  it  hastened  her  movements,  and  in  a  few 
moments  she  was  at  the  parlor-door,  which  she  entered  tremblingly, 
and  not  the  less  beautiful  for  her  fright.  Her  step  had  been  agile, 
but  she  stopped  as  if  spell-bound  just  within  the  door-way,  seemingly 
unable  to  comprehend  or  reply  to  the  very  civil  "  Good  evening" 
with  which  she  was  addressed  by  Mr.  Thomas  Vrail. 

The  changed  expression  of  her  countenance,  so  radiant  on  enter 
ing,  so  amazed  and  saddened  now,  did  not  fail  to  attract  the  notice  of 
that  young  gentleman,  who,  sagely  attributing  it  to  the  awe  inspired 
by  his  presence,  at  once  condescendingly  resolved  to  reassure  the 
heart  of  his  charmer  by  his  suavity.  But,  although  Getty  recovered 
herself  so  far  as  to  say  "  Good  evening,"  and,  after  another  considera 
ble  pause,  to  ask  her  visitor  to  sit  down,  and  then  to  sit  down  herself 
on  the  farthest  edge  of  the  chair  most  remote  from  her  companion, 
she  did  not  seem  easily  reassured. 

Tom  said  it  was  a  pleasant  evening ;  and  Getty  said  "  Yes,"  very, 
very  faintly. 

Then  Tom  said  it  was  a  beautiful  walk  from  his  house  to  Miss 
Van  Kleeck's,  and  Getty  again  answered  with  a  monosyllable,  but  this 
time  a  little  more  distinctly. 

"A  very  delightful  walk,"  reiterated  the  suitor,  "and  one  which  I 
hope  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  taking  frequently." 

Miss  Van  Kleeck,  thinking  it  necessary  to  say  something  in  reply, 
and,  entirely  failing  to  comprehend  the  drift  of  the  remark,  "  hoped 
so,  too." 

Tom  now  felt  himself  to  be  getting  along  fast,  nay,  with  very  rail 
road  speed ;  so  he  ventured  to  draw  his  seat  a  little  nearer  to  Getty, 
to  her  manifest  trepidation,  for  her  eyes  turned  quickly  toward  the 
door,  and  she  seemed  to  be  contemplating  flight. 

But  it  was  one  of  Tom's  maxims  to  strike  while  the  iron  is  hot, 
and  if  he  had  been  so  well  convinced  of  having  made  a  favorable 
impression  on  the  evening  of  his  first  visit,  he  felt  doubly  sure  now, 
after  the  new  encouragement  he  had  received. 


244  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  I  may  be  a  little  hasty,  Miss  Van  Kleeck,"  he  said,  again  slightly 
lessening  his  distance  from  her,  "  but  I  have  had  the  presumption  to 
imagine  that  I  —  that  you  —  that  I " 

"Please  not  to  come  any  nearer,"  said  Getty,  hastily,  as  her 
suitor's  chair  exhibited  still  further  signs  of  locomotion. 

"Ah!  certainly  not,  if  you  wish  it,"  replied  the  lover  very 
blandly;  "I  mean,  not; a*  present;  but  allow  me  to  hope  that  the 
time  will  come,  when  you  —  when  I  —  that  is  to  say,  when  both  of 
us "  /.-".? 

Tom  stopped,  for  Gertrude  had  risen,  and  had  taken  a  step  toward 
the  door,  with  much  appearance  of  agitation. 

"  I  fear  you  do  not  understand  me,"  he  said  hastily. 

"I  fear  I  do,"  she  replied  quickly  and  sensibly,  "although  it  is 
rather  your  manner  than  your  words  which  express  your  meaning." 

"  Stay,  then,  and  be  assured  that  I  am  quite  in  earnest." 

"  I  do  not  question  your  sincerity,  Mr.  Vrail 

"  That  I  have  come  here  to  offer  you  this  hand,"  he  continued, 
extending  certainly  a  very  clean  one,  which  bore  evident  marks  of 
recent  scrubbing  for  its  present  service,  but  which  the  heiress 
exhibited  no  haste  to  accept. 

She  had  attained  sufficient  proximity  to  tne  door  to  feel  certain 
that  her  retreat  could  not  be  cut  off,  and  her  self-possession  having  in 
some  degree  returned,  she  listened  respectfully,  and  replied  politely, 
although  with  a  tone  of  sadness. 

"  I  will  spare  you  any  further  avowal  of  your  feelings,  Mr.  Vrail," 
she  began. 

"  Do  not  think  of  such  a  thing,  dear  Gertrude,"  he  replied,  still 
unawakened  from  his  hallucination,  "  I  am  proud  to  make  profession 
of  my  love  for  you." 

"  Will  you  listen  to  me  a  moment  before  I  go  7" 

"An  hour !  a  week  !  nay,  for  ever  !" 

"  I  shall  not  detain  you  a  minute." 

"  I  assure  you  I  am  in  no  hurry !" 

"lam.  You  are  laboring  under  a  mistake.  We  are  nearly 
strangers  to  each  other,  and  you  have  scarcely  the  right  to  address 
me  in  the  way  you  have  done ;  but  if  it  were  otherwise  J  have  only 


A    DUTCH    BELLE.  245 

to  answer  by  declining  your  offer,"  she  said,  glancing  at  the  hand  and 
arm  which  had  remained  projecting  like  a  pump-handle  all  this 
while,  with  the  evident  expectation  on  the  part  of  Thomas,  whose 
whole  attitude  was  quite  theatrical,  that  it  was  speedily  to  be  seized 
and  clung  to. 

He  now  began  to  look  astonished  and  alarmed,  but  he  immedi 
ately  rallied. 

"  Oh  !  I  see  how  it  is  !"  he  said  ;  "  I  have  been  rather  abrupt,  I 
dare  say ;  but  we  will  become  better  acquainted.  I  will  call  often  to 
see  you,  and  then  —  why,  Miss  Van  Kleeck  —  do  n't  go  /" 

Getty  had  now  become  angry.  She  left  the  room  and  her  aston 
ished  lover,  but  paused  a  moment  outside  the  door,  and  said,  with  a 
very  pretty  flush  on  her  cheek,  and  a  very  bright  sparkling  in  her  eye : 

"  Call  as  often  as  you  choose,  Mr.  Vrail,  but  I  shall  never  see 
you.  You  do  not  seem  to  understand  the  plainest  words,  but  I 
assure  you  we  shall  never  be  better  acquainted  with  each  other  than 
we  are  now.  Good  evening." 

So  saying,  Getty  almost  ran  out  of  the  outer  room,  shutting  the 
door  after  her  with  a  haste  which  gave  it  quite  the  character  of  a 
slam,  and  hurried  up  to  her  own  apartment. 

Tom's  panoply  of  conceit,  which  was  almost  invulnerable,  and 
had  withstood  so  much,  only  now  gave  way. 

"  I  really  believe  she  means  to  refuse  me,"  he  said,  soliloquising. 
"  It  is  certainly  very  ridiculous ;  but  perhaps  she  may  come  back. 
I  will  wait  a  little." 

He  did  wait  some  minutes,  listening  earnestly,  and  was  at  length 
gratified  by  the  sound  of  approaching  steps,  which  he  advanced  to 
meet  with  great  alacrity ;  but  what  was  his  consternation  on  encoun 
tering  at  the  door  the  wrinkled  and  vinegary  countenance  of  Dame 
Becky,  whose  huge  spectacles,  as  she  stood  confronting  him  a  moment 
in  silence,  glowered  upon  him  like  the  eyes  of  the  great  horned  owl. 

The  lover  retreated  a  step  before  this  apparition. 

"  Do  you  want  Getty  ?"  she  said,  at  length,  in  a  voice  amazingly 
shrill  and  sharp. 

"I  —  yes,  I  should  be  happy  to  see  her  a  few  minutes  if — 
if  you  please." 


246  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  But  do  you  want  her  ?  Do  you  want  to  marry  her  ?"  she  asked, 
in  still  more  of  a  scolding  tone. 

"  Oh  !  —  ah !  —  yes,  madam,"  said  Tom,  attempting  to  win  the  old 
woman  by  a  fine  speech ;  "  I  am  exceedingly  proud  to  call  myself  an 
admirer  of  your  beautiful  niece  ;  and  I  have  indulged  the  hope  that 
we  might  find  our  tastes  congenial  to  each  other,  and  our  hearts  sym 
pathetic.  May  I  count,  dear  madam,  on  your  influence  with  Miss 
Gertrude  I" 

"  No,  you  can 't ;  and  more  than  that,  you  can 't  have  her.  So, 
no  more  of  that.  You  are  the  third  this  week  !" 

"  Good  gracious  !  the  third  what,  ma'am  ]" 

"  No  matter  what ;  you  can 't  have  her.  You  understand,  do  n't 
you?" 

"  Y  —  yes,"  said  Tom,  "I  suppose  I  do." 

"  Very  well,  then  —  no  offense  meant,"  said  Aunt  Becky,  now 
trying  to  modify  what  might  seem  harsh  in  her  language,  by  a  touch 
of  politeness,  but  who  still  spoke  in  the  same  high  key.  "  Wo  n't 
you  sit  down  ?" 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  muttered  Tom,  now  decidedly  crest-fallen ; 
"  I  rather  think  it  is  time  for  me  to  go." 

"  Good  night,  then,"  said  Becky,  following  him  to  the  door,  as 
closely  as  if  he  had  been  a  burglar.  "  Take  care  of  the  dog  /" 

"The  deuce!"  said  Tom  to  himself,  clutching  his  cane  as  he 
walked  off  the  stoop.  "  Is  there  a  dog  to  be  escaped  too  ?  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  they  should  set  him  on  me !"  and  he  quickened  his  step 
down  the  lane  that  led  to  the  highway,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight 
of  the  old  farm-house,  without  even  turning  to  take  a  last  look  at 
the  solitary  light  which  gleamed  like  a  beacon  from  Getty's  room. 
Alas !  alas !  no  beacon  of  hope  for  him ! 


vJO^-  ->M 

\ 


BY  H.  W.   LONGFELLOW. 


ONCE  the  Emperor  CHARLES  of  Spain, 
With  his  swarthy,  grave  commanders, 

I  forget  in  what  campaign, 

Long  besieged  in  mud  and  rain 
Some  old  frontier  town  of  Flanders. 

Up  and  down  the  dreary  camp, 
In  great  boots  of  Spanish  leather, 

Striding  with  a  measured  tramp, 

These  Hidalgos,  dull  and  damp, 
Cursed  the  Frenchmen,  cursed  the  weather. 

Thus,  as  to  and  fro  they  went, 
Over  upland  and  through  hollow, 

Giving  their  impatience  vent, 

Perched  upon  the  Emperor's  tent, 
In  her  nest  they  spied  a  swallow. 

Yes,  it  was  a  swallow's  nest, 

Built  of  clay  and  hah*  of  horses' 
Mane  or  tail,  or  dragon's  crest, 
Found  on  hedge-rows,  east  or  west, 
After  skirmish  of  the  forces. 

Then  an  old  Hidalgo  said, 

As  he  twirled  his  gray  mustachio, 
'  Sure  this  swallow  over-head 
Thinks  our  Emperor's  tent  a  shed, 
And  our  Emperor  but  a  Macho !  '  * 

*  MACUO,  tho  Spanish  for  mule. 


248  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Hearing  his  imperial  name 

Coupled  with  these  words  of  malice, 
Half  in  anger,  half  hi  shame, 
Forth  the  great  campaigner  came, 
Slowly  from  his  canvas  palace. 

"Let  no  hand  the  bird  molest," 

Said  he,  solemnly,  "  nor  hurt  her!  " 
Adding  then,  by  way  of  jest, 

"  GOLONDRINA  is  my  guest ; 

'T  is  the  wife  of  some  deserter  1  "  * 

Swift  as  bow-string  speeds  a  shaft, 

Through  the  camp  was  spread  the  rumor ; 
And  the  soldiers,  as  they  quaffed 
Flemish  beer  at  dinner,  laughed 
At  the  Emperor's  pleasant  humor. 

So,  unharmed  and  unafraid, 

There  the  swallow  sat  and  brooded. 
Till  the  constant  cannonade 
Through  the  walls  a  breach  had  made, 
And  the  siege  was  thus  concluded. 

Then  the  army,  elsewhere  bent, 
Struck  its  tents  as  if  disbanding ; 

Only  not  the  Emperor's  tent, 

For  he  ordered  ere  he  went, 
Yery  curtly,  "  Leave  it  standing !  " 

And  it  stood  there  all  alone, 

Loosely  flapping,  torn  and  tattered, 
Till  the  brood  was  fledged  and  flown, 
Singing  o'er  those  walls  of  stone, 
That  the  cannon-shot  had  shattered. 

*  GOLOJTDRINO,  in  Spanish,  means  a  swallow  and  a  deserter. 


-,-  <:£. 


Ik  Inra  mm. 


HENRY 


PART     I. 

PART  of  the  house,  or  hall,  as  it  was  called,  was  very  old,  and 
the  other  portion  was  comparatively  new.  Its  newness  would  have 
been  considered  very  old  in  this  country ;  and  the  old  part  would 
have  been  thought  almost  eternal  anywhere. 

This  hall  was  situated  on  a  rising  knoll  of  ground,  and  overlooked 
a  meadow,  through  which  ran  a  glittering  stream,  and  the  widest 
spreading  beeches  waved  in  the  almost  perpetual  breeze  that  leisurely 
and  happily  came  up  the  ravine.  What  the  owner  had  built  of  forti 
fications  in  the  time  of  Bothwell,  and  Murray,  and  Mary  Stuart, 
could,  with  some  aid  of  the  feudal  imagination,  be  traced  from  the 
eastern  wing  —  that  was  the  oldest  —  down  to  the  river's  bank.  Ivy 
had  crept,  with  its  deep  green  family  of  leaves  and  tendrils,  over  the 
vague  line  of  conflict  wall,  and  it  was  not  difficult  to  picture  a  rather 
hard  fight  along  the  barrier,  between  the  old  chief  and  some  implac 
able  clan  whose  remotest  ancestor  had  had  his  toes  trod  upon  by  the 
remotest  ancestor  of  the  knight  of  the  castle,  in  the  remotest  era  of 
Scotch-hatred  tradition. 

This  old  hall  was  approachable  from  every  point  of  the  compass, 
by  winding  avenues,  and  all  these  avenues  seemed  to  have  been  con 
structed  with  the  leading  thought  that  they  were  to  show  the  enemy 
at  all  points  of  his  approach. 

The  hall  was  of  red  granite,  and  had  its  turrets,  whence  some  re 
tainer,  too  lazy  to  work  in  the  fields,  could  espy  the  banner  of  ar 


250  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

advancing  Highland  foray,  and  could  quickly,  in  most  unmistakable 
Scotch,  arouse  the  not  unwilling  chief  and  his  vassals  to  a  skull- 
cracking  and  throat-cutting  difficulty. 

When  I  was  there,  some  few  years  past,  peace  reigned  over  this 
old  Scotch  residence,  and  beauty,  throughout  the  year,  hovered  over 
the  mingled  colors  of  the  time-stained  walls,  and  over  the  most 
profuse  and  luxuriant  combinations  of  foliage  that  I  have  ever  seen. 

The  weather-tinted  turrets  rose  in  the  still  and  beautiful  gray  air 
incident  to  the  climate  of  that  inspiring  land,  and  a  solemn  repose 
pervaded  the  entire  circuit  of  the  scene. 

I  was  an  inmate  of  this  dwelling  for  many  years,  and  my  hostess 
was  one  of  a  peculiarly  distinguished  name  in  Scotland.  My  hostess, 
for  her  husband  had  died  a  few  weeks  before  my  arrival,  was  far 
advanced  in  her  pathway  to  the  tomb,  and  grief  had  bowed  the  ten- 
derest  heart,  the  most  noble  head,  that  ever  decked  the  divine  form  of 
woman. 

Her  apartments  were  in  the  old  wing,  and  there  she  loved  to  sit 
and  muse  over  the  legends  that,  in  their  traditionary  popularity  and 
close  connection  with  general  and  more  enlarged  events,  positively 
made  the  history  of  her  family  an  adjunct  to  the  history  of  the 
country. 

I  had  been  sitting  by  the  bed-side  of  my  venerable  friend,  one 
evening,  and  as  the  shadows  came  from  the  western  sun  we  mutually 
sank  into  a  state  of  listless  repose. 

She  lay  upon  her  bed,  old  and  feeble,  but  full  of  wonderful 
memories.  Her  dark  bright  eye  —  so  bright  then,  at  eighty,  and  in  her 
picture,  painted  when  she  was  but  eighteen,  and  which  I  fondly  keep, 
bright  as  a  star,  and  soft  as  the  sweet  air  that  floats  it  in  the  heavens  — 
kept  its  gaze  fixed  steadily  upon  me,  while  her  hand  firmly  held  a 
bunch  of  antique  keys,  about  whose  history  she  had  been  all  the  even 
ing  talking. 

The  shades  deepened  with  the  hours,  and  the  silence  of  the  room 
was  only  broken  by  the  occasional  jingle  of  those  queer  old  keys, 
held  in  the  withered  hand  of  the  withering  invalid.  Now  and  then 
I  turned  from  my  gaze  upon  the  purpling  mountains  that  barriered 
toward  the  west  the  famous  lake-region  of  Scotland,  and  glanced 


THE    IRON   MAN.  251 

toward  the  bed.  Those  eyes,  so  dark,  so  wonderfully  intelligent, 
met  me  with  such  a  strange  expression  that  I  involuntarily  rose  from 
my  seat  and  moved  toward  the  deep  window,  to  relieve  myself  of 
a  growing  sentiment  of  almost  superstitious  anxiety. 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  ring  the  bell  for  me  ?"  I  rang  it,  and 
soon  after  her  maid  entered  the  room :  a  prim,  gaunt-looking  woman, 
with  long  black  hair,  pressed  upward  from  her  temples,  and  crowded 
under  a  very  white  and  close-fitting  cap. 

This  maid,  though  almost  speechless  from  respect,  in  that  old 
dwelling,  and  in  that  solemn  servitude,  though  apparently  gentle  and 
devoted  to  the  singular  mistress  it  had  been  her  duty  to  serve  for 
years,  was  an  object  always  of  peculiar  aversion  to  me.  Her  quiet 
footfall,  cat-like,  through  the  long  corridors,  that  I  heard  at  night 
when  all  the  rest  of  the  domestics  were  a-bed,  often  sent  a  small 
shiver  through  my  nervous  system,  and  made  me  wish  that  she  and 
the  rest  of  the  ghosts  would  go  to  sleep. 

Upon  the  entrance  of  this  servant  the  lady  rose,  supporting  her 
self  by  both  her  arms,  extended  backward  in  her  bed.  Her  long 
white  hair  fell  from  her  sculptured  head  upon  her  shoulders,  and  as 
she  lifted  her  hand,  those  old  keys  rattling,  she  said : 

"  Lift  the  carpet  from  the  hearth-stone,  and  hold  a  light  for 

Mr. ."  I  was  standing  by  the  window,  and  the  red  light  from 

distant  iron  furnaces  gleamed  over  the  gloomy  landscape,  and  sent 
an  unnatural  color  into  the  room,  deepening  the  gloom,  and  bringing 
forward  the  rolls  of  the  old  damask  curtains,  that  hung,  as  they  had 
hung  for  years,  in  almost  funereal  majesty,  around  the  bed  of  the 
invalid.  The  maid,  after  some  moments  of  silent  work,  drew  back 
the  carpet,  and  then,  lighting  a  candle,  beckoned  me  to  approach. 
The  mistress  placed  herself  in  such  a  position  that  she  could  see  me 
and  also  the  hearth.  I  came  near,  without  uttering  a  syllable  of 
inquiry,  to  the  spot  that  had  been  uncovered,  and  stood,  with  no  little 
anxiety,  waiting  farther  direction. 

"  Stoop  down  and  see  if  you  can  not  find,  upon  that  part  of  the 
old  hearth-stone  nearest  to  the  fire-place,  the  mark  of  a  black  ring." 
I  examined  the  stone,  and  there  was,  in  truth,  the  mark  of  a  ring 
upon  it.  The  ring  was  about  as  large  as  the  bottom  of  an  ordinary 


252  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

table-bowl,  and  was  brown  and  distinct.  After  I  had  examined  it  for 
some  short  space  of  time,  I  rose  and  awaited  some  explanation  of 
this  demi-pantomime. 

"  I  will  ring  when  I  want  you,"  said  the  sick  lady,  and  the  maid, 
placing  the  candle  upon  an  old  brass-bound  oaken  box,  that  stood  in  a 
remote  corner  of  the  room  behind  a  screen,  withdrew. 

"  That  is  the  sign  of  murder !"  were  the  first  words  spoken  by  her 
after  the  door  had  been  closed.  She  pointed  at  the  brown  stain  upon 
the  hearth. 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  stain  upon  the  stone ;  but  there  is  a  deeper 
stain  upon  many  hereabout  than  that.  That  stain  was  made  when  a 
young  girl  died,  and  that  stain  can  never  be  washed  out.  They  had 
better  have  burned  this  old  wing  to  ashes  than  have  burned  that  ring 
there;  better  have  burned  all  their  fortunes,  and  all  their  liveries, 
and  coats  of  arms,  and  coronets,  and  coronation-robes,  and  them 
selves,  than  have  burned  that  little  ring  upon  that  long-lasting  piece 
of  stone.  It  was  many  years  ago  when  that  ring  was  put  there.  I 
have  only  seen  it  once  before  to-night,  and  I  wanted  you  to  see  it  too. 
It  shall  never  be  uncovered  after  this  until  I  die,  and  then  I  hope  they 
will  bury  this  stone  near  where  the  young  girl  is  buried.  She  is  for 
gotten  long  ago,  but  not  so  long  that  I  do  not  remember  her,  as  the 
sweetest  and  gentlest  girl  in  all  the  broad  fields  of  Scotland.  She  was 
the  heiress,  through  her  mother's  right,  to  several  of  the  finest  estates 
in  this  section  of  the  country.  She  was  to  be  their  owner  when  she 
should  reach  her  sixteenth  year.  This  property  was  to  have  been 
hers.  Here  she  lived.  She  was  to  be  the  mistress  of  the  great 

property  of ,  where  you  have  been."     (I  had  spent  some  days 

there.)  "  Her  mother  was  dead,  but  her  father  lived  here  with  her, 
he  not  having  any  right  to  the  property  —  not  even  a  life-estate  in 
it  —  but  he  managed  it  for  her.  She  was  the  only  child,  and  a  rich 
one  she  was  to  be ;  the  richest  and  the  fairest  of  the  land.  But  she 
stood  in  the  path  of  others.  Should  she  die,  the  vast  wealth  that  was 
to  be  centered  in  her,  at  legal  maturity,  under  the  will,  would  revert 
to  several  poorer  relations.  The  laws  of  Scotland  with  regard  to 
property  are  strange,  and  bring  about  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  so 
it  turned  out  in  this  case.  I  was  not  a  young  person  by  any  means 


THE    IRON   MAN.  253 

\ 

when  this  affair  happened ;  and  I  remember  well  how  much  was 
feared  always  about  this  heiress.  It  seemed  to  be  looked  upon  as  a 
matter  of  course,  that  her  life  was  surrounded  with  danger.  Her 
father  watched  her  life  with  the  vigilance  of  a  sentinel.  He  was  a 
young  man  —  young  in  years  —  but  old  in  the  calmness  and  the 
apparent  coldness  of  his  disposition.  He  was  like  a  sentinel.  He 
knew,  for  he  was  Scotch,  how  deep  the  love  of  property  is  in  the 
Scottish  character,  and  he  felt  that  his  daughter  was  not  safe. 

He  never  left  his  home  —  scarcely  ever  left  her.  A  head-ache, 
some  little  malady,  she  had,  and  it  went  on  for  a  few  days,  and 
turned  to  fever.  The  approach  of  the  disorder,  its  consummation 

in  fever,  the  father  watched.     He  sent  for  the  surgeon  from  H ; 

he  came ;  felt  her  pulse,  and  went  away.  Next  day,  he  returned ; 
still  the  same  symptoms  of  fever ;  but  she  was  not  ill.  Again  he 
came.  She  had  passed  a  pleasant  night,  free  from  pain,  with  a  regu 
lar  pulse.  She  was  better,  and  she  and  her  father  were  brighter  and 
more  cheerful.  The  father  had  watched  her  all  the  time.  The  news 
of  her  indisposition  had  got  abroad ;  the  people  talked  of  it.  When 
her  fever  was  at  its  height,  property  changed  hands,  and  the  poor  but 
titled  relations  clutched  the  big  money-bags,  and  rode  over  the  broad 
acres,  and  had  their  land  laid  out  for  new  tenants,  and  built  up  the 
decayed  turrets  of  their  thriftless  castles.  That  evening,  when  the 
surgeon  came,  she  was  better,  but  there  was  a  dread  of  a  return  of 
fever.  Some  warm  and  soothing  draught  had  better  be  administered. 
Jle  felt  her  pulse.  Would  that  she  could  have  felt  his !  He  took  a 
common  bowl  from  the  table,  and  made  the  servant  pour  some  hot 
water  into  it.  He  stirred  his  soothing  draft  in  the  boiling  water. 
The  father  looked  on,  and  then  tasted  the  medicine.  The  surgeon 
watched  him  in  his  mind,  but  looked  away  and  felt  the  pulse  of  the 
sweet  girl,  who  sat  in  her  easy  chair,  looking  out  at  those  woods 
through  that  window.  He  gave  the  cup  to  the  father,  and  the  father 
gave  it  to  the  daughter,  and  the  surgeon  took  the  cup  from  his  hand. 
In  drinking  it,  a  portion  had  run  over  the  brim,  and  down  the  sides 
of  the  vessel.  Upon  that  hearth-stone  the  surgeon  placed  the  cup, 
and  left.  He  was  not  heard  of  for  some  time  afterward,  but  it  is 
strange  what  happened  to  him.  That  night,  as  he  rode  home,  his 


254  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

horse,  it  seemed,  had  stumbled  in  a  hole  that  had  been  made  by  a 
fallen  tree,  and  he  had  been  pitched  over  the  precipice,  where  the 
yew-tree  is  —  your  favorite  seat  —  and  his  body  was  swept  away  by 
the  river.  It  was  picked  up  a  month  afterward  at  the  Broomielaw,  in 
Glasgow.  That  cup  was  a  cup  of  poison ;  but  though  all  the  force  of 
law  was  brought  to  bear  upon  the  investigation ;  though  there  existed 
no  doubt  as  to  the  parties  who  had  paid,  or  had  promised  to  pay,  the 
murderous  surgeon,  still  they  avoided  a  conviction.  Whether  it  was 
wealth,  the  vast  wealth,  at  stake,  and  that  could  only  go  to  them,  that 
prevented  detection,  or  staid  the  avenging  arm  of  Justice,  I  do  not 
know;  but  her  death  was  called  a  death  produced  by  the  malady 
under  which  it  was  known  she  had  been  for  some  days  suffering.  I 
never  saw  her  father  afterward,  for  he  left  the  country,  and  it  was 
said  that  he  removed  to  America.  I  think  it  very  likely.  I  heard 
that  he  never  spoke  to  any  one  of  his  plans,  but  kept  all  his  sorrow, 
and  his  agony,  and  his  intentions,  locked  in  his  own  breast.  I  heard, 
also,  that  he  married  again  in  the  New  World.  He  was  never  liked 
in  the  neighborhood,  although  no  one  knew  why  he  was  unpopular. 
I  always  thought  him  a  very  intense  man  where  his  daughter's  inter 
est  was  concerned ;  but  otherwise  he  was  cold  and  secluded,  almost 
forbidding.  Whether  it  was  that  none  of  the  succeeders  to  her  pro 
perty  liked  to  live  here  or  not,  I  can  not  say,  but  so  it  was.  This 
estate  was  offered  for  sale,  and  my  mother  bought  it.  It  was  beauti 
ful  then,  and  you  know  how  much  we  have  improved  it.  But,  my 

dear  H ,  while  we  have  made  the  roses  bloom  all  around  the 

house,  and  built  additions  to  it,  and  have  made  the  fields  green,  and 
got  the  trees  in  the  park  to  be  finer  than  any  in  Scotland,  we  have 
never  been  able  to  wash  away  the  poison-mark  of  murder  from  our 
favorite  room.  Good  night !  I  will  try  and  sleep." 

I  took  her  hand  and  kissed  her  saintly  forehead.  She  gave  me 
the  bunch  of  keys7  to  put  away  in  her  desk,  and  having  rung  the 
bell  for  her  maid,  I  left  her. 


THE     IRON     MAN.  255 


PART     II. 

"  HE  is  a  rich  man,  but  he  is  a  cold  man ;  he  is  cold  as  marble. 
He  never  smiles.  He  does  nothing  but  sit  in  his  library,  they  say 
and  look  out  upon  the  sky.  His  son  is  at  sea,  and  his  wife  is  dead ; 
and  he  might  as  well  be  dead  as  alive,  for  all  the  good  he  does.  He 
never  attends  public  meetings,  never  votes,  never  was  seen  at  a  pub 
lic  dinner  or  at  a  private  one ;  and  all  that  he  does  do  is  to  sit  in  his 
room  and  look  at  the  sky." 

Thus  spoke  one  of  a  small  circle  of  gossips  in  the  sitting-room  of 
an  inn  in  one  of  the  Canadian  cities. 

"  They  tell  me,"  said  another  gossip,  "  that  he  is  a  queer  man,  but 
that  he  does  something  else  beside  sit  in  his  room  and  look  at  the 
sky.  They  say  he  goes  round  among  prisoners  in  jail,  from  curiosity, 
I  suppose,  and  that  he  reads  to  men  condemned  to  die  for  murder. 
His  face  looks  as  dark  and  as  grim  as  if  he  had  bagged  with  Burke, 
in  his  native  Edinboro'." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  came  from  Edinboro'  in  particular  ]" 
inquired  another  of  the  group. 

"  Because  his  servant-man  says  he  told  him  yesterday  that  he  was 
going  back  to  Edinboro'  in  a  few  days,  and  that  he  was  going  to 
break  up  here,  for  good ;  and  that 's  news  that  won't  grieve  any  body 
but  the  jail-birds." 

Up  and  down  the  room,  up  and  down  another  room,  back  and 
forth,  now  looking  at  the  sky,  through  the  windows,  now  on  the  floor, 
never  stopping  for  a  moment,  restless,  anxious,  sorrowful,  sorrowful, 
with  tears  upon  his  cheek,  tears  in  old  channels,  worn  when  the  night 
was  down,  dug  when  he  was  alone,  all  alone,  poor  fellow ! 

How  white  his  face,  how  white  his  hands,  and  how  his  hair  is  get 
ting  white,  too  !  Up  and  down,  with  ceaseless  step,  all  alone !  How 
perfectly  all  alone !  He  mutters  to  himself,  he  prays,  and  now  at 
last  he  stops  and  looks  at  his  watch.  It  seems  to  be  the  moment  for 
some  expected  guest  to  arrive.  Yes,  it  must  be  so,  for  he  goes  to  the 
door  and  opens  it,  and  looks  out  into  the  passage. 

The  hall-door  is  opened,  and  the  expected  guest  approaches  the 


256  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

room,  and  enters.  The  eyes  of  the  restless  host  are  no  longer  wet 
with  tears :  they  are  dry  and  hard  and  cold. 

"Have  you  brought  me  that  trinket,  Captain,  and  the  hat  and 
walking-stick,  you  spoke  about  yesterday  ?" 

"  I  have,  and  they  must  have  reached  here  before  this,  as  I  sent 
them  up  by  one  of  the  sailors  before  I  left  the  ship." 

The  master  of  the  house  rang  the  bell.  A  servant  entered,  to 
whom  he  gave  orders  to  have  whatever  things  had  been  brought  from 
the  vessel  carried  up  stairs,  to  his  son's  apartment.  The  servant 
looked  for  U  moment  at  his  master's  face,  and  then  withdrew. 

"  Is  it  necessary  for  you  to  remain  long  in  port  1" 

"  Not  over  two  days ;  and  then  I  sail  for  Liverpool.  My  cargo  is 
nearly  all  stored,  and  I  wait  but  your  orders  to  name  the  day  when 
we  shall  leave." 

"  Then  in  two  days  we  will  sail.  I  will  send  for  you  to-morrow, 
as  I  shall  have  to  make  arrangements  with  you  regarding  some  pri 
vate  matters.  Good  evening !" 

The  visitor  bowed  himself  from  the  room,  and  closed  the  door. 

In  an  instant,  all  was  changed  in  the  manner  of  the  man  whom 
he  had  left  alone  in  the  chamber.  The  cold  and  frigid  muscles 
relaxed.  The  step,  a  few  moments  before  so  formal,  became  quick 
and  nervous.  The  eyes  that  had  so  suddenly  dried,  were  wet  again. 
The  brows  were  no  longer  knit  together  in  forbidding  gloom,  but 
expressed  the  wrinkled  workings  of  some  great  internal  agony.  Up 
and  down  the  apartment  he  paced  for  a  few  moments,  with  that  same 
tread,  whose  sound  seemed  to  syllable  the  sentiment  of  grief.  Only 
for  a  few  moments,  for  he  quitted  the  room,  and  mounted  the  stair 
way.  How  slowly  now  he  mounts  the  stairs :  how  slowly  he  places 
his  foot  upon  the  landing ;  and  how  wearily,  as  if  weak,  exhausted 
totally,  he  approaches  a  door  that  fronts  him  on  his  right !  His  hand 
is  upon  the  knob.  He  turns  it  and  enters.  Could  that  marble  face 
have  been  seen  then,  what  a  spectacle  would  it  have  presented ! 

"Utterly,  hopelessly  liveth  that  man,"  we  would  have  said.  "  Keep 
from  him  laudanum,  the  loaded  pistol,  and  the  razor  !  Keep  him  from 
himself,  for  the  love  of  GOD  and  his  angels !"  He  is  in  the  room  ;  a 
trimly-finished  room,  with  a  single  bed  in  it,  and  many  comforts ;  a 


THE    IRON    MAN.  257 

small  library,  foils  hung  upon  the  walls,  old  boxing-gloves  placed 
carefully  upon  the  table,  an  ink-stand,  with  a  pen  lying  by  its  side, 
a  book  of  travels  open  upon  the  desk,  that  stood  by  the  favorite  win 
dow,  the  chains  and  collars  of  dogs,  a  portrait  of  the  man  who  had 
just  entered  the  room,  and  a  female  portrait,  too,  both  hung  so  that 
the  owner  of  the  room  could  see  them  when  he  first  wakened  in  the 
morning.  On  the  dressing-table  was  a  golden  locket,  a  plain  straw 
hat,  with  a  broad  black  ribbon  round  it ;  and,  leaning  against  a  chair, 
was  a  fragile  cane,  capped  with  some  fancy  head.  Down  into  that 
chair  this  gloomy  man  threw  himself.  He  reached  out  his  hand,  and 
grasped  the  hat,  and  then  he  held  it  to  his  lips ;  and  while  the  tears 
fell  rapidly,  he  kissed  it  over  and  over  again.  The  cane  he  kissed, 
and  then  he  sat  moodily,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  wall,  where 
hung  the  boxing-gloves  and  the  foils.  No  one  entered  that  room  after 
him,  but  there  he  sat  until  the  sun,  bathing  the  whole  west,  sent  its 
farewell  glory  into  the  apartment,  and  seemed,  as  it  were,  to  summon 
him.  He  rose  and  knelt  by  the  bed,  and  then,  with  features  fixed  as 
the  everlasting  granite,  he  left  the  room  and  descended  the  steps. 


PART      III. 

"  WHEN  I  took  him  those  things,  he  was  just  as  cold  as  a  piece  of 
ice.  I  wonder  if  he  has  any  feeling.  I  wonder  what  he  is  going  to 
do  with  those  things.  Most  men  would  have  asked  me  some  further 
questions  about  that  affair.  GOD  knows  he  can 't  blame  me,  though  I 
believe  he  hates  me,  and  I  am  afraid  to  be  left  alone  with  him.  I 
do  n't  understand  him.  He  does  not  deal  as  other  men  would  in  such 
matters ;  but  whenever  I  see  him,  he  talks  about  his  business  mat 
ters;  what  the  cargo  will  bring  him;  when  his  other  vessels  will 
reach  port ;  what  the  price  of  goods  is  in  every  section  of  the  world, 
as  if  he  was  going  to  send  his  ships  to  the  Arctic  ocean,  to  trade  in 
icebergs." 

Thus  spoke  one  of  two  sea-faring  men,  in  a  small  back-parlor  in 
an  inn  In  the  Canadian  city  which  I  have  alluded  to  before.  The 
speaker  was  a  man  of  rough  exterior,  blunt,  and  in  all  points  a  com 
plete  old  sea-clog.  The  tempests  had  tanned  his  cheeks  like  sheets 
17 


258  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

of  parchment,  or  something  more  tough,  and  there  were  evident  indi 
cations,  throughout  the  whole  man,  that  marked  him  as  a  stern  and 
unflinching  performer  of  his  peculiar  range  of  duties.  His  companion 
was  the  captain  of  another  ship,  owned  by  the  individual  with  whom 
the  former  had  just  held  the  short  interview,  already  described. 

"Well,  he  is  the  strangest  man."  said  the  second,  "that  ever 
crossed  my  bows.  Not  one  word  of  inquiry  after  the  health  of  the 
crews,  or  how  they  are  fed  and  treated,  but  down  he  must  go  himself 
to  the  ship,  and  in  and  through  every  place  about  he  dives;  and, 
though  he  docs  not  seem  to  notice  any  thing,  I  am  sure  nothing 
escapes  him.  He  is  close-fisted,  but,  I  will  say,  just ;  and  if  there  is 
wrong  anywhere,  he  will  correct  it  if  he  can,  and  with  his  own  pro 
perty  he  generally  can  and  does.  But  you  promised  to  tell  me  about 
that  affair  of  your  last  cruise.  Go  on  with  your  yarn,  and  let 's  have 
another  glass  of  whisky  hot." 

When  the  whisky  was  brought  in,  the  sea-captain  lit  a  segar,  and 
between  his  smoking  and  his  sipping,  told  a  story  in  effect  like  this : 

"  We  had  as  good  a  ship  as  ever  floated  on  the  sea,  and  we  had  as 
good  a  cargo  as  ever  was  borne  over  the  sea  by  a  ship.  Part  of  the 
cargo  was  a  large  supply  of  flour,  about  which  I  had  particular  direc 
tions.  I  was  to  deliver  it  to  a  certain  house  at  Greenock,  and  I  was 
to  tell  the  head  partner  of  the  house  that  this  flour  was  not  for  sale ; 
that  was  all  I  knew  about  it,  though  I  think  now,  as  I  thought  then,  it 
was  intended  to  be  distributed  among  the  suffering  poor  of  some  dis 
trict  of  the  Highlands.  He  has  never  said  a  word  to  me  about  the 
cargo. 

•  "Well,  we  sailed  out  of  Quebec,  and  had  fair  winds  for  three 
days,  when,  all  at  once,  the  sky  lowered  down  with  heavy  clouds,  and 
every  thing  seemed  to  indicate  an  approaching  and  a  severe  blow : 
and  it  did  come,  and  for  two  days  we  bore  up  against  it,  though 
almost  every  hour  found  us  in  a  worse  condition  to  fight  out  the  next. 

"  I  had  several  passengers  with  me,  and  among  them  was  the  son 
of  the  owner.  He  was  a  tall,  handsome  youth,  nothing  in  him  like 
his  father,  except  some  slight  resemblance  of  manner.  I  loved  the 
boy,  and  the  boy  loved  me,  and  every  body  seemed  to  take  to  him. 
He  mixed  freely  among  the  men ;  most  of  them  he  had  known  a  long 


THE    IRON   MAN.  259 

time,  as  sailors,  sailing  his  father's  ship,  and  whom  he  had  met  on  the 
wharves  whenever  the  vessels  returned  to  port. 

"  His  father  had  intrusted  him  to  me,  with  special  instructions  to 
be  careful  of  him,  and  to  see  that  he  was  safely  left  at  one  of  the  uni 
versities  in  England.  He  was  going  abroad  to  finish  his  education. 

"Well,  the  storm  kept  on,  and,  instead  of  diminishing,  it 
increased.  Squall  after  squall  struck  her,  and  though  every  thing 
was  done  to  relieve  the  ship,  I  found  that  things  were  getting  worse, 
and  finally  a  leak  was  discovered  away  down  in  the  hold.  The  water 
poured  in  faster  than  we  could  pump  it  out,  and  indeed  we  could 
with  difficulty  work  the  pumps  at  all,  owing  to  the  constant  pitching 
of  the  almost  ungovernable  vessel.  To  make  a  long  yarn  short,  we 
were  floundering  away,  with  the  pumps  going,  the  winds  blowing  big 
guns,  and  the  waves  pitching  like  mountains  of  solid  granite  put  into 
motion,  when  the  helmsman  was  washed  from  the  wheel ;  and  before 
another  could  take  his  place,  the  vessel  fell  into  the  trough  of  the  sea, 
and  all  was  wild  confusion  and  horror. 

"I  maintained  sufficient  command,  at  that  terrible  moment,  to 
have  some  of  my  orders  obeyed.  The  boats  were  ordered  to  be  low 
ered,  and  when  one  had  touched  the  water,  the  crazy  sailors  and  pass 
engers  rushed  to  it,  and  for  an  instant,  when  it  was  filled,  it  floated  on 
the  back  of  a  huge  billow,  and  then  was  swept  away  into  the  foam, 
and  was  seen  no  more.  It  had  filled  with  water,  and  down  it  went, 
with  its  cargo  of  screaming  and  blaspheming  souls. 

"  The  next  boat  fared  better,  and  I  had  only  time  to  get  the  remain 
der  of  the  passengers,  two  only  beside  the  boy,  and  some  of  the  sail 
ors,  into  it,  when  the  ship  went  down  into  the  deep  sea,  with  a  plunge 
like  a  wild  horse  when  he  is  shot. 

"  We  escaped  the  pool  made  by  the  ship's  going  down,  and,  with 
the  greatest  difficulty,  we  got  the  boat  properly  trimmed,  and  though 
surrounded  by  a  perfect  seething  of  broken  waves,  we  managed  to 
keep  upon  the  surface. 

"  We  had  not  a  mouthful  of  any  thing  to  eat  on  board,  for  we  had 
no  time  to  secure  a  morsel  from  the  stores,  so  sudden  was  the  neces 
sity  to  take  to  the  boats,  and  so  short  the  time  to  accomplish  our 
rescue. 


260  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  Two  days  and  two  nights  wore  away,  and  we  drifted  about  the 
ocean  without  a  compass  and  without  a  sail.  Another  day  passed 
over  our  heads  and  we  began  to  be  afraid  to  look  at  one  another. 
Thirst  and  hunger  were  turning  us  into  tigers.  The  owner's  son  sat  up 
my  side  at  the  helm,  and  leaned  his  head  upon  my  knee.  He  slept 
most  of  the  time,  except  at  intervals,  when  he  would  waken  up  and 
look,  with  a  bright  eager  eye,  far  over  the  waste  of  the  inhospitable 
sea,  and  then  he  would  gaze  upon  the  miniature  of  his  father  that  he 
wore  around  his  neck.  I  saw  what  was  coming.  We  were  dying  of 
thirst  and  hunger,  and  there  was  no  hope.  A  few  hours  might  delay 
the  catastrophe ;  and  a  few  hours  only  did  delay  it.  It  began  with 
low  whisperings  and  mutterings  among  the  sailors,  and  then  it  broke 
out  into  loud  oaths  and  fierce  gestures.  Each  man  seized  what  way 
nearest  to  him  as  a  means  of  defense.  The  oars  were  raised  from 
the  water,  and  held  in  the  air  like  war-clubs,  and  the  boat  drifted 
about,  heedless  of  the  helm,  which  I  still  held  in  my  almost  power 
less  hand.  I  had  placed  a  couple  of  loaded  pistols  in  my  coat-pocket 
before  we  left  the  ship,  and  when  I  feared  that  I  would  have  to  pre 
vent  some  mutinous  spirit  at  a  moment  when  disobedience  would 
have  been  destruction  to  all ;  and  these  I  guarded  with  a  feverish 
care,  lest  they  might  be  seized  upon  by  some  wretch  in  his  extreme 
despair,  and  used  as  the  means  by  which  food  could  be  obtained  in 
that  awful  hour  of  our  starvation.  I  saw  that  a  crisis  in  our  lives 
was  at  hand,  for  the  low  murmurs  had  grown  into  unmistakable 
expressions,  and  at  last  a  demand  was  made  for  human  flesh.  One 
must  be  killed  to  feed  the  rest. 

"  The  skeletons  were  going  to  do  murder  for  food,  and  yet  one 
human  feeling  beside  that  of  hunger  remained  within  them,  that  I 
did  not  know  of,  positively,  then ;  but  subsequent  events,  speedily 
following,  revealed  it  to  me. 

"  It  was  inevitable !  one  man  among  the  gaunt  and  starving  crew 
must  die ;  but  who  was  to  be  that  man  1  That  was  a  question  which 
might  possibly  be  determined  on  the  instant  where  one  man  was 
stronger  than  the  other,  and  only  two  were  in  our  lorn  condition  ;  but 
when  there  were  many,  and  none  stronger  than  the  rest,  the  matter 
became  one  of  terrible  difficulty. 


THE    IRON   MAN.  261 

"  I  determined  to  act  on  this  hideous  emergency,  knowing  full  well 
that  sailors  are  subject  to  the  spirit  of  authority  from  long  subjection 
to  its  practical  exercise,  and  seeing  that  there  was  no  escape  from  the 
result,  for  I  swept  the  horizon  in  vain  for  some  signal  of  approaching 
succor,  I  prepared  to  draw  lots.  Then  arose  the  other  startling  and 
thrilling  question,  Who  shall  arrange  the  lots  1  There  was  not  much 
time  for  argument,  and  so  they  agreed,  after  a  moment's  pause,  that 
I,  their  captain,  should  hold  the  fates  in  my  hand.  I  tore  a  piece  of 
paper  into  as  many  strips  as  there -were  men  to  draw,  and  held  them 
in  my  hand.  All  drew,  and  the  owner's  son  drew  the  fatal  lot.  He 
was  perfectly  calm,  although  the  youngest  and  the  brightest-hoped  of 
the  whole  party,  and  seemed  to  yield  at  once,  without  a  murmur,  to 
the  horrid  fate  that  in  an  instant  awaited  him.  Then  there  sprang  up 
a  discussion  among  the  starving  crew,  and  they  declared  that  the  lots 
should  be  drawn  over  again :  they  would  not  have  their  favorite 
slaughtered.  I  arranged  the  pieces  again,  and  to  my  horror  and  sur 
prise,  the  youth  again  drew  the  fatal  slip.  Once  more  the  crew,  now 
doubly  excited,  with  their  grim,  famished  faces  staring  at  me,  swore  in 
perfect  madness  that  the  youth  should  not  die,  and  ordered  me,  with 
savage  gestures  of  insane  fury,  to  draw  again.  I  saw  that  I  was  to 
do  a  duty  beyond  their  wishes.  I  felt  the  terrific  responsibility  that 
rested  upon  me,  and  it  required  but  a  few  seconds  to  make  up  my 
mind  what  Course  to  pursue.  All  was  despair  around  me ;  all  was 
hopeless,  utterly,  and,  I  thought,  eternally  hopeless ;  and  I  felt  that 
I  would  not  die  with  the  crime  of  human  partiality  and  injustice  upon 
my  soul. 

"  I  agreed  to  hold  the  lots  again ;  and  when  I  had  arranged  them,  I 
said  that  the  youth  must  be  excluded  from  the  drawing,  and  for  that 
purpose  told  him  to  step  forward  to  the  bow.  He  rose  to  obey  me. 
I  remember  his  thin  figure  standing  between  me  and  the  bright  line 
left  by  the  departed  sun  against  the  horizon  of  the  heaving  sea.  One 
instant,  and  one  instant  only,  did  he  stand  thus  elevated  like  a  living 
cross,  with  his  arms  outstretched  to  balance  his  tottering  steps,  when 
he  fell  forward  into  the  arms  of  the  excited  sailors.  I  had  shot  him, 
as  he  stood  thus,  determined  to  end  the  conflict  for  blood  that  was 
raging  around  me,  and  satisfy  the  generous  and  noble-hearted  sailors, 


262  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

whose  lives  were  not  dearer  to  them,  in  that  hour  of  supernatural 
honor  and  supernatural  horror,  than  the  gentle  sentiments  of  love 
toward  the  boy  they  had  known  so  long. 

A  few  days  afterward,  a  vessel  picked  out  of  the  trough  of  the 
sea  a  boat  with  three  men,  lying,  half-drowned,  upon  its  bottom.  I 
was  one  of  the  three  who  had  survived  the  bloody  feats  by  which 
several  were  killed,  and  only  we  had  survived. 

"  I  had  taken  the  miniature  from  the  neck  of  the  boy,  and  the  cane, 
his  father's  parting-gifts,  and  his  straw-hat  I  also  preserved,  for  I  felt 
they  would  be  dear  to  the  unhappy  man  at  home.  When  I  took 
them  to  him,  he  ordered  them  to  be  carried  to  his  son's  room ;  and 
not  even  then,  or  before,  when  I  first  arrived,  did  he  say  one  word  to 
me  of  censure  or  approval.  I  do  not  feel  that  I  have  done  wrong,  for 
GOD  knows  it  was  a  hard  and  unheard-of  condition  we  were  all  in." 

After  the  captain  had  finished  his  story,  he  rose  from  his  chair  and 
left  the  room.  We  may  be  sure  there  was  no  more  whisky-punch 
drank  by  the  other  captain,  who  was  left,  half-bewildered,  standing 
alone  in  the  apartment. 

PART      IV. 

SEVERAL  years  had  passed  away.  My  relative  had  died,  and  1 
had  been  living  some  time  in  Paris,  when  business-letters  reached  me 
from  the  lawyer  in  Edinburgh  who  had  charge  of  her  estate,  that 
compelled  me  to  relinquish  my  studies,  and  hasten  over  to  Scotland. 

When  I  reached  Edinburgh  I  went  directly  to  Mr. 's  office, 

and  after  going  through  some  necessary  forms  of  law,  placed  the 
affairs  of  the  property,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned,  in  a  way  of  settle 
ment.  As  I  was  rising  to  return  to  my  hotel,  Mr. begged  me, 

instead  of  taking  my  dinner  at  the  solitary  little  table  in  the  coffee- 
room  of  the  inn,  to  come  and  dine  with  him  at  six  o'clock.  I  readily 
accepted  his  invitation. 

I  was  sitting  in  the  public-room  of  the  Royal  Hotel,  gazing  with 
untiring  admiration  at  the  various  points  of  view  from  the  window ; 
the  old  Castle  of  Edinburgh,  upon  its  rocky  eyrie,  overlooking  a 
glorious  panorama  of  mountain,  ocean,  frith,  and  far-extended  fields, 


THE    IRON   MAN.  263 

waving  up  toward  the  regions  of  the  lakes.  Like  a  gallant  soldier, 
wounded  in  battle,  his  head  crowned  with  laurels,  his  limbs  shattered, 
lay  this  beautiful  and  wonderful  city  before  me ;  for  part  of  it  is 
fresh  and  new,  and  the  rest  ruined  and  withered  by  time  and  the 
elements.  I  could  linger  in  description,  forgetful  of  my  story,  but  I 
did  not  undertake  to  describe  the  outward  characteristics  of  Scotch 
scenery,  but  to  delineate  the  not  uncommon  qualities  of  the  people 
of  that  country. 

My  attention  was  somewhat  distracted  by  the  entrance  of  a  man 
into  the  room.  He  threw  himself  into  a  chair ;  and  it  struck  me, 
though  at  the  moment  I  was  not  observing  him  strictly,  that  he 
sighed  as  he  took  his  seat.  I  was  not  so  hardened  by  the  usages 
of  the  world,  or  so  indifferent  to  the  phenomena  of  human  idiosyn 
crasy,  as  to  let  such  a  thing  escape  my  reflection,  and  I  turned  more 
fully  to  observe  the  stranger.  He  was,  I  should  think,  about  sixty 
years  of  age,  tall  and  meagre.  I  felt  no  farther  curiosity  to  examine 
his  person  or  his  dress,  after  I  had  once  seen  his  face.  There,  stamped 
indelibly,  were  marks  that  time  had  had  nothing  to  do  with.  Age 
has  its  wrinkles  by  right ;  its  furrows  are  made  as  if  it  were  to  let 
the  streams  of  life  have  passage  to  the  great  ocean  of  eternal  rest. 
Youth  has  its  furrows  too,  by  wrong ;  planted  there  by  premature 
crime,  by  premature  suffering,  by  unhappy  love,  or  morbid  hope. 
The  face  before  me  had  doubtless  been,  in  its  youth,  eminently 
beautiful ;  but  of  that  description  of  beauty  to  be  found  in  the 
bust  of  Brutus  the  Tribune,  and  seldom  seen  on  Scotch  shoul 
ders.  The  hair  was  black,  but  thickly  sprinkled  with  gray.  There 
was  an  undying  look  of  valor  in  the  whole  expression  of  the  counte 
nance.  It  was  not  the  look  of  the  bully,  or  such  as  we  would  suppose 
belonged  to  the  soldier ;  but  it  expressed  a  moral  courage,  such  as 
martyrs  wear  when  they  die  for  truth,  or  suffer  for  the  right. 

While  I  was  engaged  looking  at  him,  he  took  a  letter  from  his 
pocket,  and,  after  hastily  reading  it,  he  rose  and  advanced  to  the 
window  through  which  I  had  been  looking  prior  to  his  entrance.  I 
could  well  imagine  how  that  earnest  soul  might  be  affected  by  such  a 
scene  as  met  his  view.  He  stood  for  several  minutes  at  the  window, 
and  I  could  observe,  by  that  intuitive  faculty  common  to  all  men,  but 


264 


KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 


not  always  recognized  at  the  moment,  that  a  deep  gloom  constituted 
the  chief  element  of  his  meditations,  as  he  looked  out  upon  the  scene. 
Looking  at  my  watch,  and  finding  it  approaching  the  time  that  I 

should  be  at  Mr. 's,  I  ascended  to  my  room  to  dress  for  dinner, 

as  I  had  some  distance  to  go  to  reach  my  friend's  house,  he  living  in 
the  country.  I  told  the  waiter  to  have  a  carriage  at  the  door  when 
I  should  get  through  with  my  toilette.  When  I  descended,  the 
stranger  was  standing  at  the  front  door.  I  simply  gave  directions  to 
the  waiter  to  tell  the  coachman  where  to  take  me.  The  stranger 
turned  upon  me  abruptly  upon  hearing  the  name  of  my  friend,  and  I 
thought  he  was  upon  the  point  of  addressing  me.  If  that  had  been 
his  intention,  he  relinquished  it  upon  the  instant,  and  without  farther 
delay  I  entered  the  carriage  and  drove  off.  After  I  had  been  seated 
with  my  friend  some  moments  in  his  parlor,  and  the  usual  inquiries 
and  answers  had  passed  between  us,  he  smiled  and  said,  "  I  have  some 
thing  curious  to  show  you  to-day  —  an  old  friend ;  not  that  old 
friends  are  curious;  but  really,  a  man  whose  history  and  whose 
character  \vill  amuse  and  puzzle  you.  I  want  you  to  see  him  before 
I  tell  you  who  he  is,  and  what  he  is.  You  are  a  little  in  advance  of 
the  dinner-hour,  like  all  your  countrymen,  but  he  will  be  here  exactly 
to  the  moment,  for  all  Scotchmen  and  Scotch  watches  are  wound  up 
to  go  and  stop  at  the  same  moment." 

As  my  friend  had  predicted,  the  door-bell  rang  at  the  instant, 
and  the  stranger  of  the  coffee-room  entered.  There  was  a  mutual 
look  of  recognition  between  us,  and  a  positive  sensation  passed 
through  my  mind  —  a  dim  and  mysterious  thought  which  informed 
me  that  I  had  heard  the  whole  history  of  this  man  before.  So  much 
so  that  I  arose,  upon  the  gestures  of  introduction,  with  warm  and 
growing  sympathies  at  my  heart  for  him. 

My  friend's  family  consisted  of  his  wife,  a  daughter,  some  sixteen 
or  seventeen  years  of  age,  and  a  son,  who  was  just  down  from  one  of 
the  universities  to  spend  the  vacation  at  home.  It  is  not  necessary 
to  enter  into  the  details  of  the  dinner,  which  came  on  and  went  off 
with  the  usual  incidents  of  such  gastronomic  events.  The  conversa 
tion  turned,  and  was  continued  throughout  the  repast,  upon  the  very 
recent  revolution  in  Paris,  which  I,  a  foreigner,  had  had  the  singular 


THE    IRON   MAN.  265 

good  fortune  to  witness.  Though  my  recitals  of  the  daily  scenes  of 
that  chronic  phase  of  French  politics,  seemed  to  interest  my  host  and 
his  family,  they  appeared  to  have  little  effect  upon  the  other  guest. 
Interested  as  I  was  in  the  circumstances  I  was  relating,  I  was 
mysteriously,  and,  despite  myself,  more  interested  in  that  consolidated 
embodiment  of  moral  and  physical  revolution  that  sat  directly 
opposite  me.  There  seemed  to  be  a  ta.cit  understanding  with  all  the 
parties  present,  myself  included,  though  I  knew  not  why,  that  nothing 
should  be  said  that  was  not  general  in  its  character.  Though  I  knew, 
from  a  slight  incidental  remark,  that  my  host  and  his  friend  had  only 
met  that  day  after  a  separation  of  years,  I  was  not  surprised  at 
their  making  me  and  my  experiences  topics  of  unflagging  conversa 
tion. 

In  due  season  the  dishes  and  the  dessert  were  removed,  and  then, 
the  ladies  retiring,  left  us  to  our  wine  and  ourselves.  There  was  an 
uneasy  pause  after  the  ladies  had  left  us  —  an  almost  embarrassing 
silence.  My  topics  were  exhausted.  It  seemed  as  if  they  mutually 
agreed  that  I  could  no  longer,  by  any  miscellaneous  gossip,  keep 
them  from  some  positive  allusion  to  the  past.  Our  host  filled  his 
glass  with  claret  and  passed  the  decanter  to  me. 

After  I  had  filled  my  glass,  I  naturally  pushed  the  wine  across  the 
table  to  the  stranger,  when  the  attention  of  my  host  and  my  own  was 
riveted  upon  him.  His  head  was  bent  upon  the  table.  We  could 
not  see  his  face,  but  we  saw  that  his  muscular  hands  were  clenched 
together,  and  his  shoulders  heaved  up  and  down  with  convulsive 
motion.  Where  his  temple  was  exposed  to  our  view,  I  saw  a  rapid 
movement  as  of  blood  coursing  to  his  brain.  This  lasted  but  a  mo 
ment.  The  face  of  the  host,  too,  had  undergone  a  change  as  sud 
denly;  tears  stood  in  his  hitherto  happy  and  jovial  eyes;  his  lips 
quivered,  and  he  arose  from  his  seat,  and,  approaching  his  friend, 
placed  his  hand  upon  his  head.  There  sat  that  stern,  apparently 
unsympathizing  man,  his  whole  system  heaving  with  some  long-sup 
pressed  and  all-overmastering  emotion;  and  over  him  the  lawyer, 
accustomed  in  chamber  and  in  court-room  to  scenes  of  suffering  arising 
from  outraged  justice,  or  terror  from  detected  guilt,  now  quivering, 
weeping,  at  his  own  table,  at  the  mere  spectacle  of  a  depressed  head 


266  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

and  a  convulsed  frame !  I  have  described  the  features  of  the  stranger, 
when  in  their  calm ;  but  when  he  raised  his  head  from  the  table,  a 
change  the  most  singular  had  taken  place.  That  undying  valor, 
almost  stubborn  in  its  expression  before,  had  died  away ;  the  beauty 
of  his  youth  had  returned  to  him,  with  almost  feminine  loveliness. 
Looking  up  at  his  friend,  he  said : 

"  I  can  endure  it  no  longer :  for  years  and  years,  James,  I  have 
kept  this  to  myself,  but  now  I  must  yield.  To-day  has  brought  back 
to  me  scenes  that  I  have  only  remembered  at  midnight  in  tears.  I 
could  not  bear  to  make  my  sorrows  common.  I  could  have  borne  it 
to-day,  if  I  had  not  come  here  to  this  house.  I  bore  it  when  I  first 
met  you,  my  oldest  and  my  dearest  friend.  I  bore  it  when  the  world 
cried  murder,  and  she  perished  unavenged ;  when  her  assassins  took 
possession  of  their  blood-stained  gains ;  when  I  left  the  land  of  my 
birth,  and  the  home  of  my  youth,  and  went  among  strangers  to  live 
and  toil,  toil  for  my  boy,  to  give  him  wealth  and  station  such  as  his 
sister  would  have  had.  I  bore  it,  and  took  a  pride  in  keeping  my 
sacred  agony  to  myself,  when  I  heard  that  to  appease  the  famine  of 
some  of  my  shipwrecked  sailors,  my  son  was  shot.  I  bore  it  when  I 
looked  again  upon  the  land  I  had  so  long  left,  but  never  had  forgot 
ten  ;  but  I  could  not  bear  it  longer  when  I  saw  your  wife  sitting  hap 
pily  by  your  side,  as  my  wife  used  to  sit  by  mine  —  your  daughter 
smiling,  as  my  poor  child  used  to  smile,  and  your  son,  just  from  the 
college  to  which  mine  was  going  —  all  there  were  too  much.  I  have 
been  called  an  iron  man  —  a  man  almost  dead  to  human  feeling ;  but 
you,  who  have  known  me,  must  have  known  it  would  come  to  this  at 
last," 

He  finished  speaking,  and  after  a  short  interval,  we  returned  to 
the  parlor.  The  iron  armor,  once  thrown  aside,  seemed  as  it  never 
could  be  resumed,  in  the  presence  of  his  old  friend's  family.  Long- 
smothered  emotions  of  his  heart  appeared  to  well  up  from  him  as  if 
his  nature  had  received  an  invocation.  Although  that  remarkable 
countenance  still  wore  the  traces  of  long  suffering,  there  beamed  over 
it  a  pervading  recognition  of  long-sought  but  just-discovered  sympa 
thy.  I  will  not  attempt  to  analyze  in  the  exact  crucible  of  philosophi 
cal  chemistry  the  various  dispositions  that  characterized  this  man. 


THE    IRON    MAN.  267 

There  are  few  persons  who  have  not  met  with  similar  individuals, 
whose  conduct  in  their  human  out-door  walks  has  been  at  total 
variance  with  their  human  in-door  feelings.  The  only  thing  that  I 
esteem  strange  in  all  that  I  have  related,  is  the  singular  train  of  coin 
cidental  events,  beginning  with  the  small  ring  upon  the  hearth-stone  of 
my  relation's  bed-room,  that  had  expanded  into  larger  circumferences, 
embracing  years  and  distant  countries ;  and  then,  after  having  encir 
cled,  by  so  many  extraordinary  events,  the  destinies  of  people  differing 
so  totally  in  pursuits  and  purposes,  finding  its  concluding  movement 
near  the  same  spot  where  it  had  commenced.  It  is  ill-becoming  in 
us,  with  our  limited  knowledge,  to  set  ourselves  up  as  judges  of 
human  character ;  for  here,  in  an  especial  manner,  was  a  man  entirely 
misjudged,  since  it  was  not.  long  before  I  was  informed  by  my  friend 
the  lawyer,  that  he  had  been  the  agent  of  the  most  bounteous  chari 
ties  imposed  upon  him  by  this  Iron  Man. 

The  ignorant  traveller,  entirely  uninstructed  in  the  truths  of  natural 
history,  upon  first  beholding  the  peaks  of  the  Alps,  shrouded  in  their 
everlasting  mantles  of  snow,  would  little  dream  that  in  the  vales 
beneath  ran  musical  streams  of  summer  water,  and  emerald  meadows 
spread  their  velvet  cloaks,  dappled  with  the  clustering  rose-bush,  and 
the  sun-loving  flowers  of  the  gardens  of  the  tropics. 


.  fry   Ca.pewe0141Qmm.el. 


0f  lirk, 

A    FRAGUEXT    FROU    THE    LAST   CANTO    OF  "ULRIC,   OR    THE    VOICES.' 


T     II     E     O     1)     O     K     E 


[THE  following  fragment  is  the  concluding  canto  of  the  second  unpublished  part  of  a  poem 
written  in  1846  and  4T.  The  first  part  appeared  under  the  name  of  "  Ulric  ;  or,  the  Voices.'1''  There 
is  a  period  of  ten  years  between  the  two  parts.  EALMELINE'S  son,  FRITZ,  has  grown  into  a  youth  of 
nineteen.  In  rather  a  strong  contrast  to  the  present  state  of  the  eastern  continent,  where  a  new 
crusade  appeal's  being  organized,  not  against,  but  in  favor  of  Islamism,  the  Ottoman  govern 
ment,  after  possessing  itself  of  the  most  beautiful  and  celebrated  countries  of  the  ancient  oriental 
world,  conceived  the  ambitious  design  of  subjugating  Europe  to  the  faith  of  the  Prophet. 
Weakened  and  distracted  by  civil  wars,  the  Christian  princes  might  well  tremble  to  behold  Con 
stantinople  the  seat  of  the  Sultan,  and  the  Crescent  advancing  to  Venice,  Vienna,  and  Bavaria. 
SOLYMAN  II.,  furious  at  his  defeat  by  the  knights  of  St.  JOHN,  in  the  island  of  Malta,  had  invaded 
Hungary  with  a  powerful  army,  and  laid  siege  to  Sigeth,  the  bulwark  of  Styria  against  the  Turk. 

ULRIC  had  promised  to  join  his  standard  to  that  of  the  noble  Count  ZERKINI  (according  to  a  cus 
tom  of  those  days)  whenever  the  Turkish  forces  should  again  threaten  Europe.  He  reached 
Sigeth  with  his  forces  just  before  the  formidable  army  had  approached  its  walls.  Both  ULRIC  and 
ZEURINI  believed  that  the  European  MAXIMILIAN  II.,  who  lay  in  the  neighborhood  with  an  army 
not  inferior  to  that  of  the  besiegers,  would  at  least  attempt  its  relief;  and  on  the  supposition  that 
so  noble  an  enterprise  would  be  almost  certainly  victorious,  and  would  open  a  brilliant  career  tc 
the  son  of  EMMELINK,  he  had  taken  him  as  one  of  his  aides.  Arrived  at  Sigeth,  it  transpired  thai 
the  Emperor  had  resolved  not  to  aid  the  city ;  and  death  now  stared  in  the  face  of  every  ont 
within  the  fatal  walls  of  Sigeth.  The  canto  opens  at  the  moment  when  ZERRINI  and  ULRIC  had 
adopted  the  desperate  expedient  of  cutting  their  way  out.  This  celebrated  action  of  ZERRINI  is  a 
well-known  historical  incident  The  Turks  left  30,000  dead  on  the  field.  SOLYMAN  died  during 
the  siege.  His  successor  granted  MAXIMILIAN  a  twelve  years'  truce.  ZERRINI,  as  the  poem 
relates,  fell  W7hile  cutting  his  way  out  of  the  fortress.] 

HAEK  !  hark !  the  thunder !  not  of  Heaven, 
But  that  which  Hell  to  earth  has  given. 

Hark !  peal  on  peal  resound ! 
Where  the  hot  battle  fiercely  burns, 
The  cannon's  fiery  fury  turns 
On  Sigeth's  gate.     Hark  I  madly  tear 
Each  crash  along  the  broken  air. 
Death  and  destruction  madly  glare, 

And  shake  the  affrighted  ground. 


270  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

And  'mid  their  solemn  anthem  rise, 
Troubling  the  soft  astonished  skies, 
Deep  howls  of  hate,  and  yells  of  pain, 
And  shrieks  of  death  that  pierce  the  brain, 
And  fiends'  discordant  glee, 
And  clashing  steel  and  oaths  of  rage, 
Vain  prayers  beneath  the  sabre's  edge, 

And  shouts  of  victory. 
Amid  the  rout  Hell's  master  stood, 
And  saw  his  work,  that  it  was  good. 

Ha !  will  the  wreaths,  slow-rolling  by, 
Of  heavy  smoke,  for  ever  lie 
Upon  that  group,  and  veil  its  fate, 
Which  issues  from  the  castle  gate  ? 
Now  wafts  the  breeze  the  rising  cloud : 
On !  on !  their  foes  around  them  crowd. 
Hark  !  ULBIC'S  voice,  like  trumpet  loud, 

His  lagging  men  to  chide. 
Forward  his  sable  courser  springs, 
And  his  dread  sword,  which  terror  wings, 
As  'gainst  each  flashing  blade  it  rings, 

Drips  with  the  crimson  tide. 

"With  him,  what  warrior,  fiercely  bright, 
Cuts  Ms  way  onward  through  the  fight  ? 
It  is  ZERRIXI,  and  between, 
Half  'mid  the  battle's  fury  seen 
That  bold  boy-hero !     How  would  start, 
0  EMMELINE  !  thy  mother's  heart, 

If,  with  unhelmed  brow, 
'Mid  cannon  crash  and  gory  stream, 
And  whistling  ball  and  sabre  gleam, 
As  in  some  dark  delirious  dream, 

Thou  couldst  behold  him  now ; 
Couldst  mark  how  near  each  hot  ball  hissed 
That  cheek  thy  lips  so  oft  have  kissed ; 
And  how  each  sabre's  deadly  blow 
"Would  deep  have  cleft  that  laughing  brow, 
But  for  one  arm  whose  watchful  blade 
Ever  like  lightning  round  him  played, 

Intent  from  harm  to  shield. 


THE    DEATH    OF    ULRIC.  271 

If  once,  amid  that  iron  rain, 
Yon  broken  bridge  their  steeds  can  gain, 
They  're  safe  —  yet  no !    They  strive  in  vain, 
'T  is  their  last  battle-field. 

But  look !  hurrah !  new  shouts  resound ! 
Their  foes  give  way,  and  bite  the  ground, 
And  h'ke  some  strong  uprooted  oak, 

Contending  with  the  blast, 
Slow  yielding  to  the  tempest  stroke, 
Now  wavering  'mid  the  billowy  smoke, 
That  torn  and  flaunting  Crescent  look ! 

Stoops  to  the  dust  at  last. 

There,  'mid  the  battle's  wildest  storm, 
Erect,  ZERKIXI'S  glorious  form 

Uptowers  like  a  god. 
With  shout,  resounding  wild  and  far 
Above  the  mad  discordant  war, 
He  cheers  his  men,  "  On !  on!  hurrah!" 
But,  now,  St.  STEVEN  !  to  the  ground, 
Borne,  h'ke  the  stag,  by  fierce  blood-hound, 
Overwhelmed  with  many  a  mortal  wound 
He  falls,  our  eyes  no  more  to  greet, 
Crushed  'mid  wild  horses'  iron  feet, 

A  trampled,  broken  clod. 

On !  on !  'mid  shout  and  dying  groan, 
Now  ULRIC  and  the  boy  are  down  ! 
But  no !  they  rise  :   o'er  heaps  of  slain 
Forward  their  snorting  chargers  strain ; 
The  masses  break  apart  again. 

Their  foes,  they  reel ;  they  fly  I 
With  their  sharp  swords  they  cut  their  way, 
Uninjured,  through  the  reckless  fray. 
The  bridge !  the  bridge  I  they  gam  the  day ! 

"  On  1  death  or  victory !" 

Oh,  gallant  FRITZ  1  not  yet,  not  yet ! 
Beware  that  furious,  hot  onset, 
With  flaming  eyes,  together  four 
Against  thee  rush.     One  struggle  more  ! 


272  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Thrice  the  sharp  sabre  to  thy  brow ! 

Thrice  ULRIC'S  swift  hand  wards  the  blow  — 

Wards  and  avenges  well  —  for  low 

They  lie  who  struck.     Each  recreant  dies ! 

The  last  survivor,  panting,  flies ; 

But  e'er  his  Arab  steed  he  pressed 

He  turned  to  aim  at  FRITZ'S  breast          + 

One  winged  ball  of  hate. 
Now,  ULRIC  !  speed !     In  Sultan's  flank, 
Deep,  deep  the  spur,  encrimsonod,  sank, 

Alas !  too  late !  too  late ! 
He  sees  his  sword,  so  swift  and  keen, 
All  useless  now,  but  rides  between, 

With  one  convulsive  bound ;       * 
And  then  the  flash,  the  smoke,  the  shout, 
The  clear  report  rang  sharply  out, 
The  deadly  messenger  he  feels ; 
Starts  sudden,  in  his  saddle  reels, 

Then  sinks  upon  the  ground ! 

FRITZ  springs  to  save  him  1  sees,  oh  DEATH  ! 
Thy  heavy  hand !     Thy  failing  breath, 

Thy  smothered  groan  of  pain ! 
To  stanch,  he  strives,  the  bubbling  blood, 
Outgushing  in  a  swollen  flood, 

A  dreadful  task,  and  vain. 

"  Oh,  general !  Oh,  fatal  strife ! 
For  mine  thou  gavest  thy  precious  life  ! 
The  ball  was  meant  for  me !" 
"That  flying  fellow  sent  it  home, 
His  aim  was  good ;  my  hour  hath  come  — 
My  hour  of  victory." 

And  now  from  FRITZ'S  white  cheek  flowed 
The  hue,  that  all  the  battle  stood ; 

And  dropped  his  blinded  eyes. 
"Oh,  fatal,  fatal  day!"  he  said, 
As  o'er  that  brow  the  death-damp  spread ; 


THE    DEATH    OF    ULRIC.  273 

And  still  streamed  forth  the  purple  tide ; 
"  So  late,  aloft,  I  saw  him  ride, 
In  all  life's  grandeur  and  its  pride ; 
Now,  here  he  lies." 

Yes,  yes,  in  death  the  warrior  lay, 
Each  moment  ebbed  his  life  away, 
The  helm  unloosed,  the  forehead  bare, 
Upraised  to  HEAVEN  in  silent  prayer. 
Then  gently  spoke:  "Dear  FRITZ,  no,  no, 
'T  is  vain,  't  is  vain;  let  —  let  it  flow! 
"Weep  not  for  me.    Death  is  no  theme 
For  weeping.    It  most  sweet  doth  seem 

To  yield  my  breath. 
Oh !  nothing  in  this  world  hath  been 
So  slandered,  with  thy  friendly  mien, 
Thy  face,  so  hopeful,  so  serene, 
As  thou,  oh  DEATH!" 
"  Sweet,  pitying  HEAVEN  !  my  heart  will  break ! 

"  My  breath,  it  fails ;  poor  Sultan  take 
My  parting  gift,  and  for  my  sake 
Be  gentle  with  him,  FRITZ  ;  and  when 
Thou  reachest  Rudolstadt  again, 
And  ridest  him,  all  joyous,  on 
Through  wood  and  vale,  o'er  hill  and  lawii, 

Each  sylvan  path  I  see ! 
The  mossy  steep,  the  silent  wood, 
Look !  how  the  yellow  golden  flood, 
The  very  spot  on  which  we  stood, 

Bid  her  remember  me." 

"Oh,  dearest  friend!  oh,  gracious  HEAVEN! 

His  senses  wander " 

"I  have  striven, 

Not  all  in  vain,  r.nd  now  the  spell 
I  break  at  last.     Sweet  boy,  farewell ! 
Thy  hand !  I  die  —  all  cold  —  all  dark ! 

My  blessing  to  thy  m .     Hark!  hark! 

They  call !  what  bright  forms  round  me  gather ! 
Ha!  yes;  my  blessing  to  thy  father!" 
18 


274  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Oh  DEATH  !  how  beautiful,  how  still ! 
As  if  some  sculptor's  wondrous  skill, 
Out  of  the  cold  and  lifeless  stone 
That  noble  warrior  form  had  hewn. 
Over  the  marble  features  stole 
A  light,  as  rose  the  parting  soul, 
And  then,  descending  o'er  the  plain, 
Floats  softly  an  angelic  strain 
Of  voices  airy  sweet,  that  seem 
A  loving  thought,  a  tender  dream. 
It  lingers  not,. that  passing  choir, 
But  slow  recedes,  and  rises  higher, 
Fainter  and  fainter ;  now  it  dies, 
Uncertain,  in  the  farthest  skies, 

ULRIC,  farewell !     Thy  painful  task  is  done, 
Thy  battle  with  the  Prince  of  Hell  is  won. 
Faith's  narrow  path  thy  child-like  soul  hath  trod, 
Thou  hast  believed,  obeyed,  and  worshipped  GOD. 

And  thus  a  Christian  spirit,  free  at  last, 
Beyond  the  reach  of  wearying  sin  hath  passed, 
From  its  hard  warfare  with  Hell's  potent  might ; 
Good  against  evil ;  darkness  against  light. 
Victorious  o'er  the  world,  its  sorrows  ended, 
And  through  Death's  gates  by  angel  forms  attended. 

And  thus,  oh  reader !  whatsoe'er  thou  art, 

Or  high  or  low,  or  rich  or  poor,  thy  part, 

Thus,  in  its  hour,  thy  spirit,  too,  may  rise 

From  earth's  short  sufferings  to  the  happy  skies, 

If  thou  but  care  to  choose  aright  between 

The  curse  and  blessing  of  this  lower  scene ; 

If  thou  but  mark,  as  by  GOD'S  help  we  may, 

Hell's  filthy  laughter,  as  thou  go'st  astray, 

And  the  clear  voices  calling  thee  again, 

"With  many  a  secret  tone  and  thrilling  strair , 

Voices,  perchance,  now  floating,  faint  and  far, 

From  some  light  cloud  or  quiet  gaziog  star. 

While  now,  with  trumpet  tones,  they  burst  and  roll 

Up  from  the  depths  of  thy  eternal  soul, 


THE    DEATH    OF    ULRIC.  275 

Oh  mortal !  listen  to  them.    Learn  to  know 

Those  earnest  voices,  whencesoe'er  they  flow. 

Watch  for  them !     Listen !     Mark  them  and  obey ! 

Follow  not  thou  the  Evil  One's  soft  way, 

For  all  his  art  can  give.    When,  at  thy  side, 

He  stands  and  whispers  thoughts  of  lust  and  pride, 

From  his  vile  spells,  by  prayer  thy  spirit  free, 

And  break  away,  how  sweet  soe'er  they  be. 

For  sweet,  oh  GOD  !  they  are,  and  his  old  throne 

Too  firmly  set  for  thee  to  move  alone. 

Oh,  sorcerer!  full  many  a  wondrous  charm 

He  knows  to  banish  doubt  and  hush  alarm, 

Thy  eyes  to  veil,  and  so  to  sway  thy  thought, 

Clasped  in  his  arms,  thou  still  believest  not. 

All  bright  things  of  the  earth,  oh!  mystery! 

Are  sometimes  lent,  his  instruments  to  be ; 

Nature's  fair  visions,  music,  moonlight,  love ; 

All  that  they  will  may  captivate  and  move, 

Soft  vales  and  mountains,  summer-days  and  flowers. 

And  golden  hopes  that  wing  youth's  airy  hours, 

Science  and  taste  and  intellect  refined, 

The  noble  heart  and  the  aspiring  mind , 

The  fatal  trust  in  conscious  innocence 

Whatever  wakes  the  soul,  or  wins  the  sense, 

There  lies  the  dark  foe  'mid  the  roses  curled, 

But  ONE  alone  can  overcome  the  world. 


A        STORY        OF        KASKASKIA 


BY        J.      L.      M'CON 


LE      MA1TRE      A      DANSER. 

KASKASKIA,  (properly  written  Cascasquia,)  founded,  according  to 
the  best  authorities,  about  1688,  by  the  good  Father  Allouez,  is  pro 
bably  the  oldest  settlement  on  the  waters  of  the  Mississippi.  For 
a  long  time  the  head-quarters  of  the  French  in  the  Great  Valley : 
successively  a  military  post  of  some  importance,  and  the  capital  of 
the  growing  State  of  Illinois,  it  possessed,  for  many  years,  the  dis 
tinction  of  a  frontier  metropolis ;  but  its  site  was  chosen  without 
regard  to  that  geography  which  ultimately  develops  its  own  foci ; 
and  every  new  farm  opened  in  the  country  hastened  the  decay  of 
its  factitious  prosperity.  A  few  miles  in  any  direction  from  the  true 
focus  are  sufficient  to  seal  the  obscurity  of  the  most  promising 
town  ;  and  he  who  fortunately  pitches  his  cabin  upon  the  converging 
point  of  the  lines  of  commerce  may  safely  await  the  lapse  of  time, 
secure  that  his  corn-fields  will  eventually  become  city-lots,  and  his 
modest  dwelling  give  place  to  palaces  of  trade. 

In  accordance  with  this  geographical  principle,  as  the  country  to 
the  northward  was  settled  and  improved  Kaskaskia  decreased  in 
importance ;  and,  as  St.  Louis  began  to  emerge  into  the  light,  the 
shadow  of  her  wings  deepened  the  growing  twilight  around  her  elder 
sister.  The  removal  of  the  seat  of  government  withdrew  the  only 
remaining  element  of  prosperity ;  and,  in  182-,  the  period  of  our 


280  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

produce,  before  a  light  footstep  and  a  silvery  voice  announced  the 
entrance  of  Marie  herself. 

A  gleam  of  the  yellow  sunlight  which  bathed  the  street  in  front, 
would  not  more  suddenly  or  cheerfully  have  illumined  the  room. 
The  sweet  songsters  who  occupied  the  cage  above  her  mother's  head 
enriched  the  air  with  no  mellower  or  clearer  notes ;  no  foot  in  Mon 
sieur  Maillefert's  dancing-school  was  lighter,  no  figure  more  graceful, 
no  eyes  brighter,  no  face  more  beautiful.  Light  auburn  hair,  clear, 
dark-blue  eyes,  a  nose  of  Grecian  truth,  and  a  mouth  combining  all 
the  attractions  of  pearl  and  ruby  ;  a  throat  as  full,  and  neck  as  flex 
ible  as  the  dream  of  a  sculptor ;  shoulders  white  and  round,  with  a 
bust  as  faultless  as  the  statue  of  the  "  Slave,"  completed  the  beauty 
of  a  face  and  form  as  perfect  as  ever  wore  the  youthful  graces  of 
sweet  seventeen. 

She  was  arrayed  in  a  loose  though  neatly-fitting  morning-dress 
of  cross-barred  muslin,  white  as  the  lily.  This  was  confined  at  the 
waist  by  a  silken  cord  of  pale  pink  hue  ;  around  her  neck  was  tied  a 
narrow  velvet  ribbon,  of  the  same  becoming  color ;  and  her  hair  was 
simply  dressed  in  the  fashion  of  the  time,  with  a  band  and  flowers. 

Her  appearance  was  the  signal  for  the  recommencement  of  the 
little  Monsieur's  universal  salutations,  elaborate  and  profound,  as 
if  given  to  a  whole  ball-room,  marshaled  for  the  dance ;  and  in  his 
twinkling  black  eye  there  was  a  ray  of  light  which  showed  that  age, 
though  now  approaching  his  fiftieth  year,  had  not  deprived  him 
of  the  Frenchman's  greatest  pleasure  —  admiration  of  female  beauty. 

"Souhaits  le  bon  jour,  MaWselle !"  he  exclaimed  with  all  the 
artist's  grace,  as  she  came  to  the  window,  and  received  his  salutation 
with  a  smile  which  would  have  revived  one  of  his  nation,  though  he 
were  in  the  article  of  death. 

"Monsieur  Maillefert  has  called  to  inquire  whether  you  will 
attend  his  fete  this  evening,  Marie,"  said  her  mother,  "  and  I  have 
placed  you  under  his  protection." 

"I  am  sure  no  better  chaperon  could  be  chosen,"  said  Marie, 
smiling  in  reply  to  the  repeated  bows  of  her  whimsical  protector ; 
"  but  how  is  my  father  this  morning  V 

"  He  is  sleeping,"  her  mother  answered,  glancing  at  the  door  at 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  281 

which  she  had  listened,  "  and,  though  he  passed  a  somewhat  restless 
night,  he  now  seems  much  better." 

"  What  time  will  you  call  for  me,  then,  Monsieur  ?"  she  -asked. 

"At  seven,  Ma'm'selle,  exactement;"  and,  gallantly  touching  his 
lips  with  his  fingers,  with  another  flourish  of  his  beaver,  he  took  his 
leave,  and  went  on  tip-toe  up  the  street,  by  far  the  happiest  man  in 
all  Kaskaskia. 

"  Sit  down  here  for  a  few  moments,  Marie,"  said  Madame  Lefrette, 
pointing  to  a  seat  beside  her  own.  Marie  obeyed  without  speaking ; 
and  while  the  daughter  leaned  upon  her  mother's  lap,  and  the  mother 
placed  her  arm  caressingly  across  the  daughter's  shoulders,  both 
gazed  in  silence  for  some  minutes  at  the  cheerful  scene  before  them. 
The  elder  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Marie,"  she  said,  drawing  the  girlish  form  nearer  to  her  bosom, 
as  if  to  compensate  the  harshness  of  a  duty  with  increased  affection, 
"  if  you  go  to  Monsieur  Maillefert's  fete  this  evening,  I  must  warn 
you  against  an  error  that  I  fear  you  are  falling  into." 

Marie  looked  up  in  surprise. 

Do  n't  alarm  yourself,"  her  mother  continued  with  a  smile ;  "  I  do 
not  apprehend  any  great  danger  —  to  you,  my  dear ;  but  you  are 
young  and  impulsive,  and  may  thus  unconsciously  do  a  very  great 
injury  to  another." 

"  1 1    Why,  mother  mine,  what  can  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean,  my  daughter,"  said  her  parent,  gravely,  "  that  at  M. 
Maillefert's  you  will  probably  meet  Coron  de  Cheville." 

Marie's  eyes  fell  as  if  a  blow  had  been  threatened  her,  and  the 
blood  mantled  in  a  deep  blush  to  her  very  temples,  while  her  frame 
trembled  as  the  young  alder  in  a  wandering  wind. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  give  you  pain,  Marie,"  her  mother  continued, 
placing  her  arms  about  her  neck ;  "  but  the  circumstances  of  your 
position  render  it  necessary  that  I  should  guard  you  against  an  error 
of  manner  which  may  be  fraught  with  evil  to  yourself —  and  others." 

"What  would  you  have  me  do,  mother]"  she  asked,  without 
raising  her  eyes,  which  were  now  ready  to  overflow. 

"  Nothing  but  what  your  own  good  sense  will  teach  you.  Receive 
him  courteously  and  kindly,  but  not  warmly.  Let  your  father's  faith 


282  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

be  kept,  by  showing  him  that  you  are  willing  to  accept  his  friendship, 
but  will  not  encourage  one  step  that  leads  toward  the  forfeiture 
of  any  obligation." 

"  I  am  sure,  mother,"  she  said,  hastily  lifting  her  head,  "  if  he 
knew  it  he  would  not  take  such  a  step,  however  much  encouragement 
I  might  give  him." 

"  Is  it  possible  you  have  left  him  in  ignorance,  Marie  ?" 

Again  she  dropped  her  eyes,  and  was  silent. 

"  Well,  well,  my  daughter,"  she  resumed,  replacing  the  arm, 
which  for  a  moment  she  had  withdrawn,  "  I  will  not  reproach  you. 
It  is  not  too  late,  I  hope.  Let  him  know  your  position  without  delay. 
It  will  be  better  for  all  parties.  And  now,  I  must  go  to  your  father. 
You  will  have  some  preparations  to  make,  and"  — after  a  pause — "  I 
hope  we  may  never  have  occasion  to  return  to  this  subject." 

She  turned  away  as  she  spoke,  and  entered,  the  sick-chamber  of 
her  husband,  leaving  her  daughter  occupied  with  reflections  the  most 
unhappy  her  young  life  had  yet  known. 

The  "  circumstances"  referred  to  by  the  mother  are  essential  to 
our  story. 

Among  the  French  customs  which  the  shifting  of  population  and 
consequent  change  of  social  manners  had  not  entirely  abrogated,  was 
that  of  affiancing  children  in  their  infancy  —  a  blind,  pernicious  sys 
tem  of  anticipation,  which  mortgages  the  Future  to  the  mercenary 
wants  or  conveniences  of  the  Present,  and  plants  the  seeds  of  super 
fluous  immorality,  whereof  spontaneous  growth  is  sure  to  yield  a 
sufficient  harvest.  In  accordance  with  this  custom,  Marie  had  been, 
in  her  sixth  year,  affianced  to  young  Napoleon  Le  Vert,  then  a  youth 
of  ten  summers,  the  son  of  M.  Lefrette's  partner  in  business.  During 
the  eleven  years  which  had  since  elapsed,  each  had  been  reared  and 
taught  to  look  upon  the  other  as  the  companion  of  the  future ;  and 
though,  after  reaching  those  years  which  gave  them  a  place  in  society, 
neither  had  shown  much  attachment  to  the  other,  the  only  effect  of  this 
indifference  had  been  to  conceal  the  knowledge  of  their  Jian  failles 
from  their  acquaintance,  or  to  let  it  die  to  their  remembrance ;  for 
the  parents  of  both  still  viewed  the  contract  as  irrevocable. 

This  arrangement  had  been   ratified  —  perhaps  suggested  —  by 


MARIE    LEFRETTE. 


283 


Marie's  grandfather,  who,  although  at  this  period  some  years  dead, 
must  figure  modestly  in  our  narrative.  He  was  a  Virginian,  who  had 
emigrated  to  Kentucky  with  some  of  the  foremost  pioneers,  when 
that  country  belonged  to  the  venerable  "  Old  Dominion."  Having 
made  a  settlement,  and,  by  proper  charters,  secured  the  territorial 
rights  which  accrued  upon  the  act,  his  roving  spirit  had  led  him  to 
Kaskaskia.  Here  he  became  enamored  of,  and  soon  married  Jose 
phine  Le  Vert,  a  young  Frenchwoman,  the  sister  of  the  elder  M.  Le 
Vert,  of  our  story.  Lingering  for  some  months,  attracted  by  the 
primitive  simplicity  of  the  people  among  whom  he  found  himself 
domesticated,  a  daughter  was  born  to  him ;  and  this  daughter  was  the 
mother  of  Marie  Lefrette.  As  soon  after  this  event  as  his  wife  could 
endure  the  journey,  he  returned  to  Kentucky.  But,  upon  searching 
for  his  land,  he  found  that  the  man  whom  he  had  left  in  possession 
had  sold  the  most  valuable  portion  of  it,  under  a  claim  which  he  had 
set  up  by  virtue  of  actual  residence !  To  add  to  his  discomfiture, 
on  examining  his  papers  to  find  the  original  grant  to  himself,  he  dis 
covered  that  that  was  lost  or  destroyed !  The  books  of  records, 
which  might  have  supplied  its  place,  had  been  either  burnt  or  carried 
away  by  the  Indians  in  some  murderous  foray ;  and  all  muniments 
of  title  were  thus  obliterated. 

He  resorted,  however,  to  the  desperate  expedient  of  a  suit  at  law, 
endeavoring  to  show  that  the  grantor  under  whom  the  occupants 
claimed,  was  a  tenant,  and  could  not  be  allowed  to  deny  his  land 
lord's  title.  But  no  lease  could  be  produced ;  indeed,  he  had  for 
gotten  whether  a  lease  was  ever  made ;  and,  in  the  absence  of  any 
paper  to  support  it,  his  suit  failed,  and  his  land  was  lost.  Soured  and 
disgusted,  he  returned  to  Kaskaskia,  where,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  his 
daughter  was  married  to  Monsieur  Lefrette.  Of  this  marriage,  the 
only  issue  was  our  Marie,  whose  grandfather  lived  just  long  enough 
to  confirm  her  fian$ailles  with  the  son  of  his  brother-in-law,  claiming 
the  Episcopal  right  of  confirmation  in  virtue  of  his  will,  which  made 
her  sole  heir  to  the  lands  he  had  lost ! 

By  these  possessions,  which  might  just  as  well  have  been  "  castles 
in  Spain,"  no  body  save  the  poor  old  man  set  very  great  store  ;  and 
the  fact  that  Marie's  father  was  a  large  stockholder  in  various  land- 


284  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

companies,  and  was  accounted  rich,  (prospectively,)  probably  had 
more  influence  in  inducing  the  elder  Le  Vert,  who  was  supposed  to 
value  good  lands  higher  than  good  hearts,  to  seek  the  betrothing  of 
his  son  with  his  partner's  daughter. 

One  other  character  noticed,  and  the  story  may  march  on. 

Coron  de  Cheville,  a  young  man  two  or  three  years  the  senior  of 
Marie's  fiance,  was  a  descendant  of  M.  Rocheblave,*  the  last  French 
governor  of  Kaskaskia.  Having  inherited  a  moderate  fortune,  he 
had,  to  some  extent,  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  travel,  and  of  an  edu 
cation  which  this  country  did  not  then  afford.  At  the  age  of  twenty- 
four  he  had  returned  to  his  native  town,  and  now  divided  his  time 
about  equally  between  Kaskaskia  and  St.  Louis. 

Mingling  freely  in  the  unconstrained  society  of  the  former  place, 
he  could  not  fail  to  meet  Marie  Lefrette ;  and,  just  at  that  age,  when 
all  such  impressions  are  more  vivid  and  definite  than  at  any  other,  he 
was  at  once  attracted  by  her  beauty,  grace,  and  simple  refinement  of 
manner.  Ignorant  of  her  engagement,  he  prosecuted  a  series  of  deli 
cate  but  unconcealed  attentions,  which,  in  a  circle  more  thoroughly 
organized,  would  have  been  at  once  set  down  as  indications  of  a  desire 
to  make  her  his  wife.  Even  here,  observations  had  been  made  upon 
his  assiduity,  in  so  much  as  to  excite  the  jealousy  of  Napoleon  Le 
Vert,  Marie's  intended  husband  —  a  young  man  of  morose  and 
haughty  temper,  who,  although  incapable  of  loving  any  thing  very 
deeply,  was  yet,  of  all  men,  most  likely  to  resent  what  he  superci 
liously  deemed  a  trespass.  Nothing  but  Coron's  self-control,  and  the 
manly  contempt  he  felt  for  the  other's  boyish  demonstrations,  pre 
vented  a  collision ;  for,  we  are  bound  to  say,  the  conduct  of  Marie, 
guided  only  by  her  feelings,  and  tempered  by  no  respect  for  Napo 
leon's  half-formed  character,  was  not  calculated  to  avert  it.  She  took 
little  pains  to  conceal  her  preference  for  the  free  and  open  bearing  of 
the  former  to  the  arrogant  and  sullen  manner  of  the  latter ;  probably 
reflecting,  if  she  ever  thought  seriously  of  the  matter,  that  she  would 
have  quite  enough  of  his  vapors  after  her  marriage,  and  willing,  while 

*  WHOSE  wife,  on  the  taking  of  the  place  in  1778,  by  Gen.  George  E.  Clarke,  concealed  or 
destroyed  all  his  public  papers ;  and  by  the  loss  of  many  grants  and  charters,  was  the  cause  of 
infinite  confusion  in  land-titles. 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  285 

she  was  yet  free,  to  obey  an  impulse,  of  whose  whole  force  she  was 
ignorant.  It  was  this  imprudence  against  which  her  mother  warned 
her. 

ii.     MONSIEUR    MAILLEFERT'S    FETE. 

M.  MAILLEFERT'S  house  was  situated  almost  in  the  heart  of  the 
town,  but  was  surrounded  by  a  garden  carefully  and  elegantly  cul 
tivated,  and  containing,  perhaps,  two  acres  of  land.  Overlooking  this 
on  three  sides  was  a  broad,  wooden  corridor,  which  contained  more 
space  than  lay  within  the  walls ;  though  the  omnipresent  vine,  which 
hung  in  masses  from  the  eaves,  and  clambered,  richly  laden  with  the 
choicest  flowers,  up  every  column,  and  along  the  balustrade,  inclosed 
it  from  the  sun  and  rain  almost  as  effectually  as  the  rude  carpentry 
which  marked  its  inner  limit.  The  whole  edifice  looked  as  we  might 
imagine  a  Chinese  pagoda,  which  had  been  crushed  toward  the  earth 
by  a  steady  pressure  from  above ;  not  falling  into  ruin,  but  expand 
ing  horizontally  in  proportion  as  it  subsided  vertically.  Its  peaked 
gables  and  projecting  eaves ;  its  triangular  attic  windows,  and  broad, 
low  doors ;  its  "  sway-backed"  roof  and  narrow  flights  of  steps,  all 
encouraged  the  illusion.  But  the  presence  of  an  elegant  and  ornate 
taste,  everywhere  visible  in  the  arrangement  of  flowers  and  the  train 
ing  of  a  thousand  creepers,  fenced  out  the  idea  of  decay ;  while  the 
merry  notes  of  the  little  Monsieur's  fiddle,  heard  from  within,  or  the 
cheerful  tones  of  his  bird-like  voice,  banished  all  gloom,  and  peopled 
the  rooms  with  gayety. 

In  those  old  days,  when  a  morose  and  mistaken  puritanism  had 
not  given  dancing  to  the  devil,  and  then  denounced  it  for  belonging 
to  him,  the  dancing-master  was  no  unimportant  personage,  at  the 
worst ;  and  on  this  great  occasion  —  the  closing  fete  until  the  cooler 
weather  of  the  autumn  —  the  moral  stature  of  the  character  was  not 
diminished.  When  M.  Maillefert,  proud  of  his  charge,  as  a  young 
emperor  of  the  conquest  of  a  capital,  marched  up  with  Marie  to  the 
gate,  the  little  crowd  assembled  there  respectfully  gave  way  for  him 
to  pass,  but  affectionately  closed  in  upon  his  heels,  and  followed  him 
within  the  house. 

A  narrow  hall  ran  through  from  front  to  rear,  dividing  a  large 


286  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

saloon  and  a  suite  of  rooms ;  and  these,  notwithstanding  their  low 
ceilings,  unlevel  floors,  and  bare  walls,  presented  an  appearance  quite 
elegant  and  imposing.  The  planks  had  either  been  diligently  rubbed 
smooth  for  the  purpose,  or  worn  so  by  the  friction  of  many  feet. 
Garlands  of  evergreens,  and  wreaths  of  flowers,  and  quaint  devices 
made  of  various  leaves,  adorned  the  window-frames,  or  drooped 
gracefully  between ;  while  bouquets  and  choice  single  flowers  were 
scattered  on  the  unobtrusive  little  tables,  or  strewed  along  the  divans. 
Green  branches  of  the  delicate  pine  were  fixed  against  the  wall,  as 
brackets  to  support  the  numerous  lights ;  and  the  radiance  of  these 
was  a-tempered,  not  diminished,  by  the  veil  through  which  it  was 
filtered. 

As  the  company  entered,  little  negro  girls,  with  their  wide  mouths 
full  of  ivory  and  fun,  attended  to  receive  the  hoods  and  mantles,  while 
two  boys  of  the  same  shining  sable  were  already  "  tuning  up"  their 
fiddles.  These  were  the  Monsieur's  musicians ;  pupils  of  his  own, 
whose  proficiency  reflected  as  much  honor  on  his  musical  ability  as 
the  graceful  dancing  of  the  active  'demoiselles,  upon  his  standing  as  a 
master  of  the  "  art  of  motion." 

One  long,  complaining  cry  from  both  instruments,  to  try  their 
tone,  and  then  a  sudden  shifting  to  the  rapid  notes  of  a  dancing  tune, 
"  put  life  and  mettle"  in  the  expectant  company.  The  little  Monsieur 
led  his  partner,  Marie,  to  the  head  of  the  saloon,  and  at  his  signal  the 
figures  were  speedily  filled  up.  His  shrill  voice  was  now  heard  from 
end  to  end,  and,  as  if  instantly  affected  by  some  volatile  gas,  the 
whole  array  began  to  move  with  as  much  agility  as  art,  and  more 
grace  than  either.  Kound  and  round,  to  and  fro,  up  and  down,  the 
dancers  went ;  the  flashing  of  light  drapery,  the  wreathed  smiles  of 
pleasure,  the  flitting  of  fair  forms  through  mazy  order,  and  the 
changing  lights  and  shadows,  furnished  forth  a  scene  of  animation  far 
more  common  then  than  now.  The  tripping  of  light  feet,  the  exhila 
rating  music,  the  hurried  chat  and  merry  laughter,  pervaded  with  a 
careless  gayety  the  perfumed  air ;  while  the  hurried  alto  of  the  maitre 
shot,  like  a  sunbeam,  through  the  mazes  of  the  figure,  and  illumined 
all  with  the  light  of  discipline  and  order. 

The  rooms  gradually  filled  up  with  old  and  young ;  and  many  a 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  287 

fat  little  dame  danced  with  her  eyes,  though  she  might  not  with  her 
feet,  and  gazed  in  envy  on  the  figures,  remembering  her  own  gay 
days  of  youth.  The  fathers  of  the  village,  too,  were  gathered  in ; 
and  boys  and  girls,  who  now  impatiently  awaited  the  coming  of  that 
time,  whose  passage  they  were  destined  to  regret.  After  the  first 
"set,"  the  master,  having  given  the  example,  consigned  Marie  to 
another  partner,  and  devoted  himself  to  the  comfort  and  enjoyment 
of  others.  Cool,  light  beverages  and  delicate  spicy-cakes,  were 
passed  about  from  time  to  time  by  the  little  negroes ;  and,  at  eleven, 
a  supply  of  strong  hot  coffee,  accompanied  by  viands  more  substan 
tial,  was  served  to  every  guest. 

While  the  dancers  were  standing  in  their  places,  to  do  honor  to 
this  favorite  stimulant,  two  gentlemen  advanced  from  the  line  of  spec 
tators,  and  approached  the  spot  where  Marie  was  chatting  with  her 
partner.  The  younger  of  these,  who  was  a  rather  handsome  man  of 
perhaps  five-and-twenty,  with  an  air  of  quiet  grace  and  thorough 
good  breeding,  pressed  the  hand  which  Marie  timidly  extended  him, 
glanced  for  a  moment  at  the  rapidly-changing  color  in  her  face,  and 
then  introduced  his  companion  —  a  tall,  middle-aged  man,  with  the 
keen  look  of  an  attorney. 

"  Mr.  Beman,"  said  De  Cheville,  "  informs  me  that  he  knew  your 
grandfather,  in  Kentucky,  and " 

"And,"  interrupted  the  elder,  with  a  somewhat  elaborate  bow, 
"  desired  this  introduction  as  much  on  account  of  his  grand-daughter's 
own  attractions,  as  of  her  relation  to  his  old  friend." 

Marie  inclined  her  head  rather  coldly;  for  she  was  somewhat 
shocked  at  the  breadth  of  the  opening  compliment ;  but  hastened  to 
say,  as  if  conscious  of  the  ungraciousness  of  her  manner : 

"I  am  always  glad  to  meet  any  one  from  Kentucky;  and  my 
mother  will  be  happy  to  see  you  at  our  house." 

"  He  was  just  asking  me  to  take  him  thither,"  said  De  Cheville, 
"  when  I  told  him  you  were  here." 

"And  justified  his  ardent  praises,"  added  Beman,  with  a  laugh, 
"  by  pointing  you  out." 

De  Cheville  glanced  at  Marie  with  a  conscious  blush ;  but  she 
turned  away  her  face,  to  cover  a  confusion,  which,  however,  gave  him 


283  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

more  pleasure  than  a  look  of  frank  directness.  At  the  same  moment, 
the  tap  of  the  bow  upon  the  fiddle  announced  the  re-commencement 
of  the  dance.  Coron  had  only  time  to  make  a  hurried  engagement 
for  the  next  figure,  and  retire  with  his  companion  from  the  floor,  when 
the  master's  voice  again  set  all  in  motion. 

At  the  same  moment,  Napoleon  Le  Vert  —  a  young  man  who 
might  have  been  called  well-looking  but  for  a  certain  fullness  about  the 
corners  of  the  mouth,  which  invariably  indicates  a  hot  but  selfish  tem 
per  —  pushed  rudely  through  the  crowd,  and  forced  Marie  to  pause  in 
the  movement. 

"  Shall  we  dance  the  next  figure  together,  Marie  ?"  he  asked  in  a 
tone  which  sounded  more  like  command  than  request. 

"  I  am  engaged  to  Monsieur  de  Cheville  for  the  next,"  said  Marie, 
timidly ;  "  but  the  following  one " 

"I  am  engaged  for  that,  myself,"  he  interrupted,  and  abruptly 
turned  away.  A  flush  of  anger  rose  to  her  face ;  but,  without  other 
wise  noticing  his  rudeness,  she  recommenced  the  dance. 

It  so  happened,  that  she  had  been  arrested  very  near  the  place 
where  De  Cheville  and  his  companion  had  taken  their  stand  among 
the  spectators ;  and,  though  the  former  did  not  overhear  the  words  of 
the  brief  conversation,  he  comprehended  the  pantomime  sufficiently 
to  see  that  Napoleon  was  uncivil  and  offensive,  and  that  Marie  was 
distressed.  His  blood  boiled  with  indignation.  He  was  about  to 
intercept  and  accost  Le  Vert,  when  the  latter  pushed  past,  and  roughly 
jostled  him,  evidently  on  purpose.  Coron  put  out  his  hand  and 
stopped  him. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  pushing  me  thus  ?"  he  asked,  in  as  calm 
a  voice  as  he  could  command. 

"  If  you  are  so  dull  as  not  to  understand  it,"  answered  the  other, 
"  perhaps  you  will  know  what  this  means !"  And  he  struck  him  on 
the  cheek  with  his  open  hand. 

The  insult  was  scarcely  complete,  when  De  Cheville  seized  him 
by  the  throat,  and,  jerking  him  from  his  feet,  pitched  him  headlong 
through  the  open  window  upon  the  corridor.  Beman  grasped  his 
arm,  and  the  crowd  rushed  forward  to  interfere ;  but,  shaking  them 
off*,  he  sprang  through  the  casement,  almost  upon  the  prostrate  Le 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  289 

Vert.  Two  or  three  of  the  men  hurriedly  followed  him ;  but,  before 
they  could  interpose,  Le  Vert  had  risen,  bruised  and  bleeding,  and, 
with  the  spring  of  a  cat,  buried  a  knife  in  De  Cheville's  side !  The 
latter  reeled  for  a  moment,  but  recovered  himself;  and,  as  the  blow 
was  about  to  be  repeated,  grasped  his  assailant's  arm,  and,  wresting 
the  knife  from  his  hand,  would  have  sheathed  it  in  his  bosom.  But 
now  came  a  rush  of  men,  accompanied  by  the  clamor  of  many  voices ; 
and,  at  the  same  moment,  Coron's  hand  dropped,  his  eyes  closed,  and 
he  sank  lifeless  into  the  arms  of  his  friend  Beman. 

"  He  is  dead !"  shouted  the  latter.     "  Seize  the  murderer !" 

The  crowd  swayed  to  and  fro,  and,  in  the  obscurity,  several  per 
sons  were  arrested ;  but  Le  Vert  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  Marie, 
with  several  other  ladies,  without  knowing  the  cause,  were  involved 
in  the  confusion,  unable  to  ascertain  what  had  happened,  until  she 
heard  Beman's  exclamation. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  Who  is  dead  ?"  she  asked,  but  without 
eliciting  an  answer,  until  some  one  clambered  into  the  window,  and, 
after  looking  out  upon  the  corridor,  turned  to  announce 

"  It  is  Coron  de  Cheville !" 

A  scream  rang  through  the  saloon,  of  such  intense  and  sudden 
agony,  as  to  silence  the  clamors  of  the  crowd ;  and,  dashing  both 
hands  against  her  temples,  Marie  reeled,  fainting,  to  the  floor !  Mon 
sieur  Maillefert  raised  her,  placed  her  tenderly  upon  a  divan,  and 
called  frantically  for  water.  While  it  was  being  brought,  he  stood 
disconsolately  wringing  his  hands,  and  repeating,  in  a  voice  of  ruin 
and  despair : 

"Ah!  Mon  Dieuf  Mon  Dieuf  Mi  fete  is  spoil!  mi  fete  is 
spoil  !n 

The  women  clustered  about  the  prostrate  girl,  and,  dashing  water 
into  her  face,  soon  brought  her  back  to  partial  consciousness.  She 
sat  up  and  looked,  bewildered,  about  her,  unable  to  recall  the  mean 
ing  of  the  scene.  But,  when  some  one  came  in  from  the  room  where 
De  Cheville  had  been  carried,  and  said  that  the  doctor  pronounced  the 
wound  dangerous,  but  not  mortal,  she  threw  herself  into  the  arms  of 
the  woman  who  knelt  beside  her,  and  burst  into  tears,  exclaiming : 

"  Thank  GOD  !     Oh !  thank  GOD  !" 
19 


290  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Monsieur  Maillefert  now  bustled  forward,  as  if  suddenly  recollect 
ing  himself,  and  said : 

"Mctm'selle,  votre  mere  have  send  un  messenger  in  ver'  mosh 
hurry  —  I  take  you,  then  ?" 

"A  messenger !"  exclaimed  Marie,  lifting  her  tearful  face.  "  For 
what?" 

"Ma'm'selle,  I  know  nothing,"  the  master  replied,  with  a  shake  of 
the  head,  which,  however,  contradicted  his  words. 

"  My  father !  My  father !"  she  cried ;  and,  springing  to  her  feet, 
hastily  put  on  her  mantle,  and,  taking  the  master's  arm,  hurried 
eagerly  homeward. 

Her  fears  had  been  but  too  well  founded.  Her  father,  whose 
illness  had  been  considered  serious  by  no  one  but  his  wife,  had  grown 
suddenly  worse.  The  physician  had  been  called,  and,  by  his  direc 
tion,  Marie  was  sent  for  at  once.  It  was  impossible,  he  said,  that 
Monsieur  Lefrette  could  survive  the  following  day ;  and,  though  he 
made  no  such  admission  in  words,  it  was  plain  that  the  sudden  turn 
in  the  disease  took  him  as  much  by  surprise  as  it  did  Marie  herself. 
He  was  not  mistaken  now,  however.  His  patient  lingered,  free  from 
pain,  until  near  noon  on  the  morrow ;  when,  without  a  struggle,  he 
passed  from  life. 

Two  days  afterward,  the  kind-hearted  people  of  the  good  old  mile 
attended  his  remains  to  their  last  resting-place ;  and,  having  done  him 
this  final  service,  turned  away  toward  home,  speculating  upon  the 
extent  of  his  widow's  dower,  and  the  amount  of  his  daughter's  inherit 
ance.  The  prevailing  opinion  was  that  Lefrette  had  died  wealthy ; 
and  if  the  supposition  was  based  rather  too  exclusively  upon  his 
part-ownership  of  certain  company  land-grants,  whose  value  lay  chiefly 
in  the  future,  this  fact  only  served  to  rebut  one  argument  against  the 
hypothesis,  by  accounting  for  the  plain  manner  in  which  the  deceased 
had  lived. 

Mr.  Beman,  who  walked  homeward  with  a  knot  of  gossips,  listened 
to  the  discussion  in  silence ;  but,  on  learning  that  all  these  castles 
were  founded  upon  stock  in  the  " Land  and  Emigration  Com 
pany,"  incontinently  broke  into  a  loud  laugh,  which  not  a  little  scan 
dalized  his  grave  companions.  He  gave  no  reason  for  his  mirth,  but, 


MARIE    LEFRETTE. 


turning  aside,  down  a  quiet  road,  drew  a  bundle  of  papers  from  his 
ample  pocket.  Of  these  he  selected  three,  and  opening  the  first,  as  if 
to  assure  himself  that  he  had  not  laughed  too  soon,  glanced  with  a 
recurring  inward  chuckle,  down  the  ample  folio  pages. 

Folding  this  carefully,  he  opened  in  succession  the  other  two,  and 
read  them  gravely  from  end  to  end.  Replacing  the  whole  in  his 
pocket,  he  turned  upon  his  steps,  and  walked  slowly  back  into  the 
quiet  town. 

The  first  and  most  amusing  of  these  papers  was  a  full  and  com 
plete  assignment  of  all  the  effects,  "  goods  and  chattels,  lands  and 

tenements,  rights  and  credits,"  of  the  aforesaid  " Land  and 

Emigration  Company ;"  setting  forth,  in  elaborate  legal  verbiage,  that 
their  title  to  certain  tracts,  upon  which  their  speculations  were  based, 
had  been  declared  invalid  by  the  courts,  and  providing  as  effectually 
as  possible  for  the  safety  of  certain  creditors,  by  declaring  a  trust  in 
their  favor,  and  appointing  Beman  assignee.  Then  followed  a  short 
inventory  of  property,  and  a  long  list  of  creditors ;  and  the  footings 
showed  a  very  large  balance  on  the  side  of  insolvency  !  A  ruin  more 
complete  and  irretrievable  never  overtook  a  company  or  individual ! 
No  whisper,  however,  of  the  failure  had  ever  reached  Kaskaskia ;  and 
among  all  who  had  curiously  speculated  upon  Beman's  business  there, 
none  had  ever  approached  the  truth.  The  lawyer,  himself,  had  as  yet 
kept  his  own  counsel. 

The  nature  of  the  other  papers,  which  he  perused  with  such  grave 
interest,  we  shall  see  in  the  sequel. 

III.       REVERSES. 

SEVERAL  weeks  passed  away,  bringing  little  that  is  essential  to  be 
told.  Marie  and  her  mother  remained  in  the  homestead,  mourning, 
as  a  mother  and  daughter  only  can  mourn,  for  the  departed.  Mon 
sieur  Lefrette  had  not  been  a  very  domestic  husband  or  demonstra 
tive  father ;  yet  the  hand  which  had  snatched  him  away  had  touched 
his  memory  with  gold ;  and  his  death  seemed  more  a  loss  than  his 
return  would  have  seemed  a  gain.  They  did  not  yield  weakly  to 
lamentation,  however ;  for  each  was  a  support  to  the  other. 


292  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

had  it  not  been  for  the  unutterable  sense  of  loneliness  and  the  con 
stant  impulse  to  wail  for  some  one's  arrival,  before  engaging  in  any 
thing,  they  might,  after  the  first  burst  of  grief,  have  at  once  regained 
their  cheerfulness. 

Many  of  their  friends  and  neighbors  came  to  the  house  with  such 
condolence  as  occurred  to  them;  and  kindness  to  the  widow  and 
orphan  was  far  more  delicate  and  genuine  among  the  simple  villagers 
than  often  it  is  among  the  more  artificial  denizens  of  cities.  Had 
their  loss  not  been  irreparable,  the  fountains  of  sympathy  and  affec 
tion  which  were  now  opened  for  the  first  time,  might  well  have 
renewed  the  greenness  that  was  withered ;  and,  as  it  was,  the  repeated 
and  unprompted  offers  of  kind  service  did  much  to  assuage  the  sense 
of  desolation  which  always  accompanies  the  sudden  death  of  a  long- 
trusted  protector. 

Among  those  who  called  with  these  and  other  motives  was  the 
elder  Le  Vert  —  a  man  whose  delicacy  was  in  an  inverse  ratio  to  his 
business  capacity,  and  who,  therefore,  in  proportion  as  he  over-valued 
money,  under-valued  kindness  and  affection.  No  one  would  have  sus 
pected  him  of  attempting  to  console  a  mourner,  or  of  sympathizing 
with  a  sorrow ;  and  Madame  Lefrette  was,  accordingly,  not  mistaken, 
when,  upon  his  entrance,  she  concluded  that  she  owed  the  visit  to 
some  matter  of  business. 

"  It  will  be  necessary,  Madame,"  he  commenced  almost  as  soon  as 
he  had  deposited  his  heavy  person  in  the  chair  offered  him,  "  that  let 
ters  of  administration  on  your  late  husband's  estate  be  taken  out  as 
soon  as  convenient " 

True ;  she  had  not  thought  of  that,  as  yet. 

"And,"  he  continued,  wiping  his  damp  forehead,  and  speaking  in 
the  tone  of  a  man  who  had  already  settled  the  affair  in  his  own  mind, 
"  I  have  determined  that,  as  his  partner  in  trade,  the  duty  will  most 
properly  devolve  upon  me." 

It  was  precisely  what  she  would  have  requested,  she  said. 

"  You  perceive,"  he  went  on,  graciously  affording  a  reason,  when 
the  arrangement  had  been  sanctioned  without  it,  "  I  shall  be  allowed 
by  the  law,  a  certain  time  in  which  to  settle  up  the  partnership  busi 
ness  " 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  298 

"  Can  you  tell  me  what  the  state  of  the  business  is  likely  to  be  1" 
she  asked,  with  some  interest.  "  I  ask  because,  from  the  anxiety  he 
expressed,  I  was  led  to  apprehend  some  embarrassment." 

"  Well,"  said  the  man  of  business,  "  he  is  somewhat  in  debt  to  the 
concern,  for  funds  drawn  out  in  his  land  speculations ;  but  that  is  well 
invested ;  and,  as  I  was  about  to  observe,  since  Napoleon  and  Marie 
are  to  be  married,  that  will  make  no  difference." 

"Ah!"  she  said,  "that  reminds  me:  is  Monsieur  de  Cheville  out 
of  danger  ?" 

"  I  am  not  advised,"  Le  Vert  replied  drily ;  "  but  Doctor  Lutin 
has  notified  Napoleon  that  he  need  not  keep  out  of  the  way  any 
longer ;  so  I  suppose  the  fellow  is  considered  convalescent." 

Madame  Lefrette  made  no  articulate  reply ;  though  the  aspiration 
with  which  she  acknowledged  the  information  was  probably  quite  as 
much  an  exclamation  of  surprise  that  Coron  de  Cheville  should  be 
classed  as  a  "  fellow." 

The  heavy  gentleman  rose  after  a  pause,  and,  making  a  ceremo 
nious  bow,  took  his  leave,  graciously  informing  the  widow,  that  his 
son  Napoleon  would  do  her  and  Marie  the  honor  to  call  in  the  evening. 
A  curl  of  scorn  bent  her  lip  for  a  moment,  and  it  was  her  only 
acknowledgment  of  the  condescending  announcement;  but  it  was 
softened  immediately  by  the  reflection,  that  loyalty  to  the  memory 
of  her  departed  husband  required  her  to  keep  the  faith  he  had  pledged, 
and  for  this  purpose,  if  necessary,  even  submit  to  be  "  patronized"  by 
a  pompous  blockhead.  She  therefore  faintly  smiled  a  pleasure  which 
she  faintly  felt,  and  the  dull  man's  shadow  was  removed. 

Marie  entered  by  another  door,  as  the  first  closed  upon  her 
intended  father-in-law.  Her  step  was  not  so  light  as  when  we  saw 
her  at  the  fete,  nor  her  face  so  blooming ;  but  the  pensiveness  of  sor 
row  but  added  an  element  of  interest  to  her  beauty,  and  quietness  of 
bearing  detracted  nothing  from  her  grace. 

"  Monsieur  Le  Vert  has  been  here  V  she  said  inquiringly. 

"  Yes,"  her  mother  answered,  "  and  left  word  that  Napoleon  will 
call  this  evening." 

"  Is  Napoleon,  like  his  namesake,  a  great  sovereign,"  she  asked 


294  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

with  a  faint  smile,  "  that  his  progresses  must  be  announced  by  so  dig 
nified  an  avant-courier  ?" 

"  Neither  he  nor  his  father,  Marie,"  said  her  mother,  somewhat 
severely,  "  is  the  proper  subject  of  a  jest  —  from  you." 

Marie  smiled  again,  as  if  the  qualification  "from  you'1''  implied 
only  a  special  prohibition.  But  the  rebuke  was  too  sadly  true  to 
afford  amusement ;  and  without  replying,  she  walked  to  the  window, 
with  her  lip  quivering  from  far  different  emotions.  Her  mother 
watched  her  for  some  moments,  as  if  waiting  for  her  to  speak,  but  at 
last  broke  the  silence  herself. 

"  You  do  not  ask,"  said  she.  "  how  it  is  that  Napoleon  can  re 
appear  openly,  without  risk  f 

"  I  suppose  he  has  been  tried,"  Marie  answered,  with  a  curl  of 
the  lip,  "  and  acquitted  on  the  usual  plea  of  self-defense." 

"  No,"  her  mother  replied,  glancing  keenly  at  her ;  "  it  is  because 
Monsieur  de  Cheville  is  out  of  danger." 

"  Scarcely,  I  should  suppose,"  returned  Marie,  "  so  long  as  the 
man  lives  whose  hatred  could  prompt  such  an  assault !" 

"  It  does  not  become  you  to  say  so,  Marie !" 

Again  the  daughter's  head  drooped  in  acknowledgment  of  the 
just  rebuke.  Napoleon  Le  Vert  was  her  affianced  husband  ;  and 
whatever  would  have  been  her  feelings  toward  Coron  de  Che 
ville,  had  she  given  them  sway,  she  was  under  a  bond,  whose  penalty 
was  her  dead  father's  faith,  to  justify,  or  at  least  not  to  condemn, 
the  acts  of  him  to  whom  the  solemn  compact  had  assigned  her.  \Ve 
will  not  undertake  to  inquire  how  her  heart  rebelled  against  this  hard 
necessity,  nor  how  much  Le  Vert's  offense  was  increased  in  enormity 
to  her  view,  by  the  fact  that  it  had  been  committed  against  De  Che 
ville.  Let  it  be  sufficient  that,  in  spite  of  all  her  mother's  exhorta 
tions,  and  the  severe  schooling  of  her  own  best  reason,  it  was  thus 
increased ;  and  that,  before  the  effort  to  repress  her  indignation  was 
required,  she  could  never  have  conceived  its  difficulty. 

The  shadows  were  lengthening  when  she  went  to  the  window ; 
and  while  she  stood,  buried  in  thought  of  no  pleasant  nature,  the  sun 
dropped  below  the  horizon,  and  the  shades  of  evening  gathered  on 
the  street  before  her.  The  day  had  been  intensely  warm,  but  now 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  295 

a  gentle  breeze  sprang  up,  and  laughing  groups  assembled  on 
piazzas,  or  in  front  of  open  doors ;  strolled  leisurely  among  flower 
beds,  and  gayly  promenaded  on  the  walks.  The  hum  of  business  was 
suspended,  but  the  hum  of  pleasure  filled  the  air  instead ;  for  the 
light-hearted  people  of  the  place  were  almost  all  without  their  doors. 
As  the  sun-light  faded  out,  the  moon  rose  on  the  scene ;  the  shadows 
which  had  pointed  toward  the  east  were  now  turned  westward ;  and 
the  sheen  lay  on  the  quaint  old  town  like  a  silvery  mantle.  Sweet 
music  floated  on  the  wind,  and  perfumes  from  a  hundred  gardens, 
exhaled  by  the  sun,  now  settled  toward  the  earth,  and  mingled  with 
the  coolness  of  the  closing  night. 

Marie  stood  at  the  window  until  the  gathering  darkness  made  her 
figure  but  a  shadow.  Her  mother  had  left  the  room,  and  she  was 
alone  with  her  thoughts.  A  knock  at  the  front  door  startled  her 
from  reverie;  and  had  there  been  an  observer  present,  even  the 
moonlight  would  have  revealed  the  flush  that  overspread  her  face  on 
suddenly  recalling  the  promised  visit  of  Le  Vert.  It  must  be,  she 
thought,  Napoleon's  knock ;  and  its  alarum  had  scattered  from  her 
mind  a  crowd  of  images,  among  which  the  figure  of  her  future  hus 
band  had  filled  a  place.  She  reproached  herself  with  this ;  but  it 
augured  ill  for  time  to  come,  that  it  was  only  sense  of  duty  that 
prompted  the  censure. 

She  had  scarcely  time  to  gain  a  seat,  and  still  the  fluttering  of  her 
heart,  when  the  door  was  opened,  and,  instead  of  Napoleon,  Mr. 
Beman  was  shown  in.  A  sigh  of  relief,  still  less  promising  for 
future  happiness,  escaped  her,  as  she  rose  and  welcomed  the  lawyer. 

"  I  fear  I  am  liable  to  the  charge  of  intrusion,"  said  the  latter, 
courteously,  as  he  took  the  seat  offered  him ;  "  but  as  my  time  in 
Kaskaskia  is  somewhat  limited,  and  I  could  not  think  of  going  away 
without  seeing  my  old  friend's  daughter,  I  determined  to  take  the  risk," 

"  We  should  be  more  unsociable  than  grief  ought  to  make  us," 
said  Marie,  warmly,  "  if  we  were  not  glad  to  see  you  ;  and  I  am  sure 
my  mother  will  say  the  same." 

"  She  is  well,  I  hope  1"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  interest. 

"  She  has  not  recovered  from  the  shock  of  my  father's  death," 
Marie  answered,  sadly,  "  and  I  am  fearful " 


296  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

The  sentence  was  arrested  by  the  entrance  of  Madame  Lefrette 
herself,  whose  feeble  step  and  pale  face  gave  but  too  evident  ground 
for  the  fear  her  daughter  was  about  to  express.  She  received  Mr. 
Beman,  of  whom  Marie  had  spoken  as  a  friend  of  her  father,  with 
a  grace  which  always  marked  her  manner ;  and  as  that  gentleman, 
referring  to  events  which  had  taken  place  in  her  girlhood,  mentioned 
names  and  recalled  circumstances  about  which  she  had  not  thought 
since  her  father's  death,  a  conversation  ensued,  which  Marie  was 
delighted  to  see  gave  her  great  pleasure.  He  seemed  to  have  been 
intimately  acquainted  with  all  the  difficulties,  law-suits,  arbitrations, 
and  controversies,  whose  result  had  been  the  return  of  her  parents  to 
Kaskaskia ;  and  from  these,  as  from  a  common  center,  his  recollec 
tions  radiated  in  all  directions,  returning  from  time  to  time,  until  the 
contributions  of  the  two  presented  a  clear  summary  of  the  whole 
disastrous  business. 

"  My  uncle,"  said  he,  "  was  your  father's  counsel  in  these  affairs ; 
and  having  been  a  junior  partner  in  the  office  at  the  time,  I  well 
recollect  the  zeal  and  industry  with  which  he  endeavored  to  unravel 
the  complicated  transaction.  But,  if  my  memory  serve  me  well,  he 
was  met  at  every  point  by  the  loss  of  certain  papers,  and  the  dis 
appearance  of  a  witness,  named,  I  think,  Miller  McAllen." 

"I  have  heard  something  of  the  kind,"  said  Madam  Lefrette. 
"  And  up  to  the  very  day  of  his  death  my  father  clung  to  the  hope, 
which  I  suppose  was  desperate,  that  these  papers  might  finally  be 
found.  Indeed,"  she  added,  sadly,  "  the  thought  went  with  him  to  the 
grave ;  for  in  his  will  he  made  my  daughter  heir  to  these  same  lost 
estates." 

This  information  seemed  rather  to  take  Mr.  Beman  by  surprise ; 
and  from  the  momentary  working  of  his  expressive  features,  one 
would  have  supposed  it  of  more  importance  than  he  had  apparently 
attached  to  the  subject. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "  may  I  ask  whether  that  will  has  ever 
been  regularly  proven  ?" 

"  I  think  no  legal  steps  were  ever  taken  in  the  matter,"  said 
Madam  Lefrette.  "  The  will  itself  was  preserved  as  a  testimony  of 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  297 

my  father's  affection  for  Marie,  and  not  for  any  pecuniary  value  it 
was  ever  presumed  to  have." 

"  Nevertheless,"  returned  the  lawyer,  "  even  as  such  testimonial 
it  was  worth  placing  upon  record;  and  if  you  will  pardon  the 
officiousness,  I  would  advise  that  it  be  done  yet." 

"  If  I  thought  it  could  be  of  advantage  to  Marie "  she  com 
menced. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  it  would,"  Mr.  Beman  interposed ;  "  but  my 
experience  as  a  lawyer  has  taught  me  the  wisdom  of  allowing  no 
paper,  which  on  its  face  conveys  a  right,  to  remain  imperfect  for  want 
of  legal  authentication." 

"  I  am  sure,  mother,"  said  Marie,  "  the  gentlemen  of  the  law 
understand  these  things  better  than  we  can." 

"  Of  course,"  the  widow  said ;  "  and  I  have  often  thought  that 
something  ought  to  have  been  done  in  the  affair,  out  of  respect  for 
your  grandfather's  memory,  if  for  no  other  reason." 

"  If  you  will  allow  me  to  do  you  this  service,  then,"  said  Mr. 
Breman,  "  I  will  undertake  to  make  the  probate  immediately." 

By  her  mother's  direction,  Marie  brought  the  will  and  gave  it  to 
Mr.  Beman,  who  opened  and  perused  it  carefully  from  beginning  to 
end.  After  ascertaining  that  it  was  all  in  due  form,  and  learning 
that  the  subscribing  witnesses,  one  of  whom  was  the  elder  Le  Vert, 
were  still  resident  in  Kaskaskia,  he  placed  the  paper  in  his  pocket  and 
resumed  the  conversation. 

"I  met  this  M.  Le  Vert  awhile  ago,''  he  said,  "and  shall  have 
occasion  to  call  on  him  again  to-morrow,  if,  indeed,  the  communica 
tion  I  made  to  him  do  not  bring  him  to  me  first ;  so  there  need  be  no 
delay." 

"  The  communication  must  have  been  a  very  important  one,"  said 
Marie  with  a  smile,  "  if  its  effect  is  likely  to  be  the  unbending  of  his 
dignity  so  far." 

"  It  was  —  rather  so,"  said  the  lawyer  drily ;  and  the  conversation 
flowed  in  another  channel. 

Two  or  three  hours  passed  pleasantly  away.  Mr.  Beman  was  a 
man  of  varied  observation,  keen  humor,  and  a  kindness  of  heart, 
which  had  survived  the  assaults  of  years,  and  the  hard  experiences  of 


293  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

professional  life.  This  toned  his  manner,  as  well  as  tinged  his 
thoughts,  giving  to  both  a  quaint  bonhommie,  which  kindly  forbore  to 
censure,  yet  could  not  fail  to  penetrate,  the  absurdities  before  it.  A 
propriety  of  anecdote,  and  an  unobtrusive  cheerfulness,  which  gently 
interposed  itself  between  his  listeners  and  all  gloomy  thoughts,  gave 
wings  to  moments,  which  condolence  would  have  loaded.  It  was  not 
until  he  rose  to  go,  and  she  glanced  out  of  the  window,  where  the 
waning  moon  was  tardily  clearing  the  eastern  horizon,  and  the  still 
ness  of  the  village  indicated  the  approach  of  midnight,  that  Madame 
Lefrette  became  aware  of  the  lapse  of  time. 

"  I  ought  to  apologize  for  staying  so  long,"  said  he ;  "  but  it  is  the 
nature  of  all  apologies  to  be  too  late." 

"An  acknowledgment  of  the  pleasure  you  have  given  us  is  in 
time,  however,"  said  Marie.  . 

"And  we  shall  always  be  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Beman,"  said  the 
widow,  "  without  requiring  apologies  for  pleasant  visits." 

The  lawyer  received  the  invitation  as  cordially  as  it  was  given ; 
and  then  a  pause  ensued,  during  which  he  seemed  debating  within 
himself  whether  to  go  or  sit  down. 

"  Before  I  leave  you,"  he  said  at  last,  as  if  his  mind  had  settled 
upon  his  course,  "  I  ought,  perhaps,  to  say  a  few  words  on  business. 
I  would  not  trouble  you  with  it  at  such  a  moment,  but  it  is  necessary 
you  should  hear  the  truth." 

Madame  Lefrette  turned  deadly  pale.  "I  am  sure,"  she  said, 
"that  you  would " 

"  Say  nothing  unpleasant,"  he  interrupted,  finishing  the  sentence, 
"  except  for  imperative  reasons :  you  are  right.  In  a  day  or  two,  I 
shall  set  off  for  St.  Louis,  to  be  absent  some  weeks ;  and  before  my 
return  you  could  not  fail  to  hear  what  I  am  going  to  say  —  perhaps 
in  a  distorted  form.  Do  n't  be  alarmed,"  he  continued,  with  a  smile 
to  reassure  her,  "  at  my  awkward  way  of  preparing  you  for  informa 
tion,  which,  after  all,  requires  no  preparation." 

"  I  suppose  I  know  what  you  refer  to,"  said  the  widow,  faintly. 

"  I  judged  so,  from  some  expressions  you  used  a  while  ago.  The 
'  Land  and  Emigration  Company,'  in  which  your  husband  held  a  large 
amount  of  stock,  is,  as  I  see  you  suspect,  insolvent.  But  I  am  the 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  299 

assignee,  and  you  may  rest  secure  that  your  rights  —  and  the  rights 
of  my  young  friend  here  —  shall  be  protected." 

"  I  would  not  have  troubled  you  with  this  communication,"  he 
continued  after  a  pause,  "  except  to  give  you  this  assurance,  and  a 
little  piece  of  advice  :  Let  some  acute  and  reliable  friend  immediately 
take  out  letters  of  administration  upon  your  husband's  estate ;  and 
let  him,  without  delay,  proceed  to  examine  the  accounts  of  the  late 
partnership." 

"  Mr.  Le  Vert  has  undertaken  to  do  so,"  said  Madame  Lefrette. 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,"  said  the  lawyer ;  "  but  it  will  be,  as  I  told 
him  this  evening,  taxing  his  good-will  too  far,  to  place  him  in  circum 
stances  of  such  temptation." 

"  Temptation !"  exclaimed  the  widow,  in  surprise. 

"  Temptation,"  repeated  the  lawyer,  decidedly.  "  I  do  not  know 
that  he  would  use  the  pen  otherwise  than  for  its  legitimate  purpose 
of  rendering  fair  accounts ;  but  the  only  means  of  making  honesty 
certain,  is  to  remove  all  temptation  from  its  path." 

After  some  further  conversation,  and  a  promise  by  Madame 
Lefrette  to  think  seriously  of  his  advice,  Mr.  Beman  left  them. 

As  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  died  away  on  the  street,  and  his 
figure  grew  dim  in  the  moonlight,  Marie  turned  from  the  door,  to 
which  she  had  attended  him,  and  approached  the  chair  where  her 
mother  still  sat,  dejected  and  sorrowing. 

"  Mother,  my  dear,"  said  she,  placing  her  arms  about  the  widow's 
neck,  and  smiling  in  her  face,  "  you  must  not  be  cast  down  by  these 
tidings ;  for  I  have  a  firm  faith  that  this  will  turn  out  to  be  a  blessing 
rather  than  a  misfortune." 

"It  is  not  on  account  of  the  insolvency  of  this  company,  my 
daughter,"  said  her  mother,  drawing  her  down  upon  a  seat,  "  that  I 
am  cast  down ;  for  I  have  expected  that  result  for  a  long  time.  It  is 
only  for  your  sake  that  I  have  ever  wished  to  realize  your  father's 
visions ;  and  it  is  now  solely  on  your  account  that  I  regret  their 
failure." 

"  If  it  have  no  worse  effect  than  it  has  had  to-night,"  said  Marie, 
gayly,  u  I  shall  not  quarrel  with  Fortune  about  it,  mother.  We  have 
both  spent  a  far  more  pleasant  evening  than  we  would  have  done 


300  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

otherwise ;  and  for  the  future,  Mr.  Beman  whispered  two  words  to 
me  at  the  door,  which  I  shall  adopt  as  a  motto." 

"  What  were  they  ?"  asked  her  mother. 

"  Courage  and  Patience." 

The  cloud  floated  away  from  her  mother's  brow,  and  she  folded 
her  daughter  in  her  arms,  with  one  of  those  caresses  which  express 
relief  as  well  as  affection. 

"  What  communication  do  you  suppose  it  was,"  asked  Marie,  after 
a  pause,  "  that  Mr.  Beman  made  to  M.  Le  Vert  ?" 

"  The  same  as  that  to  us,  I  presume,"  her  mother  answered. 

"And  do  you  think  that  had  any  thing  to  do  with  Napoleon's  fail 
ure  to  meet  his  father's  engagement  *?"  said  she  smilingly. 

"  I  should  hope  not,  indeed,  Marie !" 

"  So  should  I,"  said  the  daughter,  "  for  his  sake,  however." 

"  We  must  not  do  him  injustice,"  urged  the  widow. 

"  Of  course  not."  And  Marie  walked  to  the  window,  and  stood 
gazing,  her  face  radiant  with  smiles,  upon  the  quiet,  moonlit  street. 

The  sudden  announcement  of  De  Cheville's  death,  at  the  fete,  had 
given  her  a  glimpse  into  the  depths  of  her  own  heart.  But  duty  and 
the  exhortations  of  her  mother  had  produced  an  effort  which  she  had 
supposed  effectual.  And  yet,  when  he,  for  whose  sake  she  had  thus 
struggled,  and  conquered,  as  she  thought,  remained  absent  even  after 
announcing  his  coming,  and  contemptuously  neglected  to  send  reason 
or  apology,  she  was  far  more  rejoiced  at  her  exemption  from  the  visit, 
than  offended  at  the  slight. 

Her  conquest,  it  would  seem,  was  not  complete. 

IV.       A      NEW      HOME. 

Two  days  after  Mr.  Beman's  visit  to  the  Lefrettes,  it  was  gene 
rally  known  in  Kaskaskia,  that  the  " Land  and  Emigration  Com 
pany"  had  made  an  assignment ;  and,  in  the  absence  of  definite  inform 
ation,  the  most  absurd  rumors  were  in  circulation.  The  names  of 
various  people  were  confidently  mentioned  as  involved  in  the  failure, 
who  never  owned  a  dollar  of  the  stock,  nor  bought  an  acre  of  the 
land.  It  was  stated  that  Le  Vert  was  the  assignee ;  that  he  had  been 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  301 

made  so,  and  had,  also,  sued  out  letters  of  administration,  in  order  to 
'  save  a  portion  of  his  deceased  partner's  estate ;  but  that,  on  examina 
tion,  he  had  discovered  this  to  be  impossible,  since  Lefrette's  property 
would  not  pay  five  cents  in  the  dollar  of  his  liabilities. 

Every  body  agreed  in  crediting  these  latter  accounts ;  the  more 
especially,  as  Le  Vert  was  careful  not  to  contradict,  even  if  he  did  not 
encourage  them.  A  little  hesitation  on  the  part  of  Madame  Lefrette, 
growing  out  of  an  unwillingness  to  accept  the  suspicion  for  which  she 
saw  no  reason  but  Beman's  advice,  had  enabled  him  to  secure  the 
possession  of  his  partner's  property ;  and  when  he  filed  his  inventory, 
which  he  did  without  delay,  its  statements  consisted  but  too  well  with 
the  current  rumors.  It  appeared,  from  a  careful  examination  of  the 
partnership-books,  that  Lefrette,  in  his  land  speculations,  had  largely 
overdrawn  his  stock ;  and,  so  far  from  having  any  assets  there,  was, 
in  fact,  considerably  in  debt  to  the  concern.  Even  the  homestead, 
which  sheltered  his  widow  and  daughter,  had  been  mortgaged  for 
more  than  its  value;  and,  to  make  the  ruin  complete,  Madame 
Lefrette  had  joined  in  the  conveyance.  Poverty,  unmitigated  by  the 
saving  of  even  a  plank  from  the  wreck,  stared  them  inexorably  in  the 
face. 

When  the  administrator,  Le  Vert,  made  his  report  of  the  state  of 
affairs,  he  did  so  in  the  cold,  business-like  manner,  which  had  always 
distinguished  him;  but  Madame  Lefrette  imagined  he  was  even 
more  pompous  than  usual,  as  if  expecting,  and  prepared  to  repel, 
an  imputation  of  having  produced  rather  than  discovered  the  insolv 
ency.  She  made  no  observation,  however,  and  the  important  official 
was  fain  to  depart,  without  even  guessing  what  effect  his  announce 
ment  had  upon  the  widow.  He  must  have  been  considerably  over 
awed,  too  —  if  the  word  be  applicable  to  so  dignified  a  gentleman  — 
by  her  perfect  freedom  from  agitation ;  for  a  declaration,  which  he 
had  fully  determined  in  his  own  mind  to  make  in  her  actual  presence, 
died  upon  his  lips.  On  his  way  home,  he  wondered  what  could  have 
possessed  him.  It  could  not  have  been  shame  for  the  intended  mean 
ness  ;  for,  whatever  his  pride  or  will  resolved,  his  judgment  approved, 
as  both  prudent  and  proper.  Could  it  be  the  spiritual  rebuke,  which 
the  presence  of  the  injured  always  gives  the  wrong-doer1?  And  was 


302  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

it  for  a  wrong,  not  meditated,  but  accomplished,  that  his  conscience 
now  exacted  tribute  from  his  rigid  manhood  ? 

Madame  Lefrette  was  a  strong-minded  woman,  and  was  not  cast 
down  by  the  intelligence  of  her  sudden  reduction  to  poverty.  She 
was  not  a  masculine  woman,  however  —  one  of  those  double-gendered 
animals,  who,  having  over-ridden  and  disregarded  all  the  proprieties 
of  their  station,  and  being,  notwithstanding  their  hybrid  nature, 
dimly  conscious  of  the  falsehood  of  their  position  —  like  the  fox,  who 
sought  to  have  every  body  else's  tail  cut  off  because  he  had  lost  his 
own — now  seek  to  make  deformity  a  law,  and  hide  their  own  disgrace, 
by  degrading  the  whole  sex ;  but  a  woman  of  true  womanly  instincts, 
whom  affliction  braced  to  fortitude,  who  recognized  the  Christian  duty 
of  endurance,  and  despised  all  weak  repining.  She  calmly  surveyed 
her  position,  estimated  its  inconveniences,  accepted  its  necessities,  and 
formed  her  resolution. 

"  We  must  leave  this  house  immediately,  Marie,"  said  she,  "  and 
surrender  it  to  the  creditors." 

"  Had  we  not  better  wait,"  suggested  Marie,  "  until  Mr.  Beman's 
return  1" 

"And  be  thrust  out  by  process  of  law?  Oh !  no  !  And  beside,  I 
am  sure  it  will  discharge  a  larger  debt  if  given  up  quietly,  than  if 
yielded  only  to  vexatious  litigation.  We  are  very  poor,  it  seems ; 
but  this  must  not  make  us  dishonest." 

Marie  thought  her  mother  was  taking  rather  higher  ground  than 
the  circumstances  required.  She  was  a  woman ;  and,  like  all  her  sex, 
regarded  dishonesty  more  as  meanness  than  immorality ;  so  that,  in 
endeavoring  to  avoid  it,  she  approached  generosity  more  nearly  than 
justice.  Her  daughter  made  no  remark,  however ;  and,  on  the  fol 
lowing  day,  their  preparations  were  begun  for  leaving  the  roof  which 
had  sheltered  them  for  so  many  years.  Before  the  end  of  the  week 
the  house  was  closed,  and  the  mother  and  daughter  were  occupying  a 
single  small  room  in  the  modest  residence  of  Madame  Dupley  —  a 
widowsd  sister  of  the  late  M.  Lefrette.  The  plump  little  figure  of 
this  lady  was  but  the  type  of  a  heart  well  preserved ;  and,  though 
like  her  sister-in-law,  she  had  been  left  in  poverty  by  the  death  of  her 
husband,  kindness  and  content  remained.  She  bustled  round  so 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  303 

cheerfully  to  make  her  guests  comfortable,  and  welcomed  them  so 
cordially  to  the  room  which  she  had  hastily  got  ready  for  them,  that 
it  seemed  that  she  was  the  obliged  party,  and  not  they  to  whom  she 
was  giving  shelter. 

"  We  shall  live  like  three  princesses,"  she  said  cheerily,  at  break 
fast  on  the  morning  after  the  removal ;  "  and,"  she  added,  glancing 
smilingly  at  Marie.  "  one  of  these  bright  mornings,  some  knight  in 
rich  armor  will  ride  up  to  our  castle-gate,  and  demand  one  of  us  in 
marriage.  Which  of  us  do  you  think  it  will  be,  Marie  ?" 

"  I  hope  he  will  have  taste  enough  to  ask  for  you^  aunt,"  Marie 
answered  with  a  laugh. 

"  No  doubt  he  will,"  said  the  little  woman,  "  if  he  do  n't  see  you 
first.  But  I  hope  he  will  not  come  soon." 

"  He  's  not  very  likely  to,  I  think,"  said  Marie  quietly ;  and  a 
sudden  look  from  her  mother  denoted  that  their  thoughts  were  tend 
ing  in  the  same  direction. 

Monsieur  Lefrette  had  now  been  dead  about  seven  weeks ;  and 
during  the  whole  of  that  time  Napoleon  Le  Vert  had  not  once  called. 
His  father,  as  the  reader  knows,  had  once  announced  his  coming.  But 
on  his  way  homeward,  the  same  evening,  that  gentleman  had  met  Mr. 
Beman,  who  informed  him  of  Lefrette's  insolvency,  and  Napoleon  did 
not  make  his  appearance.  His  absence  could  not  be  accounted  for 
now,  as '  it  had  been  for  a  few  days,  by  the  necessity  for  keeping  out 
of  the  way  ;  for  De  Cheville  was  nearly  recovered,  and  had  declared 
his  intention  to  give  no  further  notice  to  the  assault.  The  elder  Le 
Vert  came  frequently  to  consult  with  the  widow  about  the  business 
of  his  administration ;  but  at  no  time  had  he  ever  mentioned  his  son's 
name,  or  hinted  at  the  engagement  between  him  and  Marie.  Once, 
when  Madame  Lefrette  alluded  to  it,  he  coldly  changed  the  subject ; 
and  when  he  went  away,  the  impression  was  left  upon  the  widow's 
mind,  that  he  had  determined  wholly  to  ignore  the  contract.  She  did 
not  speak  of  this  to  her  daughter,  however ;  and  the  glance  which 
passed  between  them  at  the  breakfast-table,  as  we  have  related,  was 
their  first  communication  on  the  subject. 

The  insult  thus  evidently  meditated  was  the  more  offensive  be 
cause  the  affray  between  Le  Vert  and  De  Cheville  had  made  the 


304  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

marriage-contract  public  talk ;  and  while  the  meanness  of  the  slight 
was  thus  made  more  conspicuous,  the  affront  became  more  decided. 
As  yet  no  observation  had  been  made  upon  it ;  and  judging  from 
Marie's  increasing  cheerfulness,  as  week  after  week  passed  away  with 
out  her  seeing  her  future  husband,  it  seemed  that  the  person  most 
interested  was  in  truth  the  most  indifferent.  After  the  first  shock  of 
grief  for  her  father,  her  spirits  rose,  as  it  appeared,  in  an  inverse 
ratio  to  her  reverses  of  fortune ;  and  on  the  morning  of  which  we 
are  writing,  when  she  left  the  table  and  went,  singing,  into  the  garden, 
it  was  with  a  joyousness  which  suggested,  if  it  did  not  fully  justify, 
the  reflection  of  her  mother,  "  She  rejoices  in  our  poverty,  because 
it  seems  to  have  freed  her  from  an  irksome  bond."  She  might  lament 
the  want  of  pride  which  thus  quietly  accepted  the  affront ;  but  the 
mother's  heart  could  not  but  feel  happy  in  the  happiness  of  her 
daughter. 

Time  passed  more  rapidly  with  the  afflicted  in  their  humble 
abode,  and  brought  more  speedily  its  healing  influences  than  they  had 
ever  hoped.  Their  reduction  to  poverty  had  been  so  complete  and 
irretrievable,  that  not  even  the  usual  effort  to  save  a  portion  of  the 
wreck  harassed  them  with  its  sordid  and  recurring  struggles.  All 
was  given  up,  without  a  murmur  or  a  day's  delay ;  and  having  thus 
severed  their  bonds  with  what  was  past,  they  were  free,  with  energy 
and  composure,  to  address  themselves  to  that  which  was  still  before 
them. 

The  means  of  procuring  at  least  the  necessaries  of  life  were  soon 
furnished  ;  for  offers  of  service,  which,  however,  they  declined,  except 
in  the  shape  of  such  work  as  they  were  able  to  do,  poured  in  from 
many,  whose  friendship  thus  took  the  course  in  which  only  it  could 
benefit  them.  A  few  of  their  former  friends  had  forgotten  them ; 
but  of  this  they  took  no  thought ;  and  every  succeeding  day  produced 
new  proof  that  those  who  worthily  deport  themselves  in  prosperity 
will  not  be  deserted  in  adversity. 

Among  the  first  who  called  upon  them  in  their  new  home,  and 
afterward  the  most  frequent  visitor,  was  our  friend  Monsieur  Maille- 
fert.  It  was  he  who  first  gave  employment  to  their  needles.  But  it 
subsequently  transpired,  through  the  garrulous  and  simple-minded 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  305 

Madam  Dupley,  who  seemed  to  take  great  pleasure  in  descanting 
upon  the  Monsieur's  kindness,  that  he  had  taken  this  step  only  after 
an  ineffectual  attempt  to  convey  assistance  to  them,  by  placing  money 
in  her  hands  under  an  injunction  of  strict  secresy.  Madam  Lefrette 
blushed  with  offended  pride  when  this  came  to  her  knowledge ;  but 
her  attention  was  forcibly  attracted  by  the  warm  praises  bestowed 
upon  the  Frenchman  by  her  enthusiastic  sister-in-law ;  and  it  was 
remarked  by  both  Marie  and  herself  that  these  had  more  general 
reference  to  the  little  Master's  character  than  to  the  generosity  of 
this  particular  act.  They  observed  also,  that,  although  he  never 
foiled  toward  them  in  that  delicate  politeness  which  was  his  by  the 
three-fold  propriety  of  national,  individual,  and  professional  character, 
toward  her  his  manner  was  far  more  impressive  and  devoted  ;  and 
the  fact  that  they  had  several  times  seen  him  leave  the  house  when 
his  entrance  had  not  been  notified  to  them,  led  them  silently  to  sus 
pect  that  the  brisk  little  widow's  commendations  were  as  much  the 
expression  of  a  personal  interest  in  him  as  of  gratitude  for  friendly 
offices  to  them.  This  suspicion  they  never  intruded  upon  their  kind- 
hearted  relative,  however  ;  and  thus  the  quiet  household  went  on  for 
nearly  two  months. 

Mr.  B eman  was  still  absent  in  St.  Louis,  or,  at  all  events,  not  in  Kas- 
kaskia ;  although  his  proceedings,  in  the  matters  of  his  trust,  were  yet 
in  progress,  in  both  places.  He  had  once  written  to  De  Cheville,  who 
was  now  entirely  recovered,  in  regard  to  some  business,  requesting 
at  the  same  time  that  the  young  man  would  call  upon  the  Lefrettes, 
before  answering,  and  give  him  reliable  information  of  their  circum 
stances.  But  the  latter  had  heard  of  Marie's  engagement  to  young 
Le  Vert ;  and  being  thus  able  to  account  for  the  assault  upon  him, 
believed  that  his  visit  could  not  be  viewed  otherwise  than  as  an  intru 
sion.  He  therefore  contented  himself  with  making  minute  inquiries 
of  Monsieur  Maillefert,  on  whose  shady  premises  he  spent  much  of 
his  time,  and  communicating  the  result  to  his  correspondent. 

Notwithstanding  this  well-considered  delicacy,  however,  De  Che 
ville  could  not  help  haunting  the  neighborhood  of  her  whom  he  loved ; 
and  this  attraction  might  not  only  account  for  his  remaining  in  Kas- 
kaskia,  but  also  for  the  singular  intimacy  which  had  grown  up 
20 


306  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

between  him  and  the  little  maitre  ;  for  that  polite  gentleman's  house 
was  almost  directly  opposite  to  that  of  Madam  Dupley.  During  the 
slow  weeks  of  his  convalescence  the  shaded  garden-walks  and  airy 
corridors  had  given  him  a  pleasant  retreat;  and  now  that  he  no 
longer  needed  such,  habit  and  the  nameless  attraction  stronger  than 
habit,  led  him  as  constantly  as  ever  to  seek  the  tempered  air  and 
quiet  precinct. 

The  subject  of  his  conversations  with  M.  Maillefert  was  far  more 
frequently  the  widow  and  her  daughter  than  comported  with  the  pru 
dence  which  had  forbidden  his  calling,  as  Beman  had  requested. 
His  friend  needed  little  prompting  on  the  theme ;  and  had  De  Che- 
ville  been  in  daily  intercourse  with  the  household  he  could  not  have 
been  better  informed  of  every  circumstance  surrounding  them. 

Among  all  these,  nothing  disquieted  him  so  much,  and  yet  gave 
him  so  much  unconscious  pleasure,  as  the  fact  that,  since  her  father's 
death  Marie  had  not  once  seen  her  promised  husband  !  As  day  after 
day  and  week  after  week  passed  by,  and  the  indignant  Monsieur  still 
repeated  that  the  absence  was  not  yet  broken,  the  impulse  to  seek 
her  and  offer  a  more  faithful  heart,  which  he  had  formed  on  first 
hearing  of  the  young  man's  neglect,  gained  strength,  and  had  now 
almost  become  a  settled  purpose.  He  still  hesitated,  however  ;  and 
his  resolution  was  but  half-formed  more  than  a  month  after  his  health 
was  fully  restored. 

One  afternoon  toward  the  end  of  August,  the  friends  were  sitting 
on  the  eastern  corridor,  sheltered  by  vines  and  flowers  from  the  glare 
of  the  summer  day,  and  enjoying  that  most  unalloyed  of  luxuries,  a 
genuine  Habana  cigar,  in  a  cool  and  balmy  atmosphere.  They  had 
been  speaking  of  Marie  Lcfrette,  and  the  Monsieur  was  wondering, 
in  his  peculiar  mosaic  of  English  and  French,  how  she  could  tamely 
and  even  cheerfully  endure  a  neglect  which  had  grown  marked  and 
offensive.  He  had,  indeed,  just  come  to  a  conclusion  which  made 
him  start  from  his  chair,  and  walk  hastily  from  one  end  of  the  corri 
dor  to  the  other,  as  if  the  revelation  of  his  own  logic  had  been  a 
startling  communication. 

"Ah  !"  he  exclaimed,  folding  his  arms  and  nodding  his  head,  as  if 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  307 

to  some   invisible   interlocutor,   "Oui!    certainement !      Of  co'rse ! 
Pourquoi,  what  for  I  not  see,  eh?  cfavanceV 

"  See  what,  Monsieur  ?  What  is  it  you  have  not  seen  before  ?" 
asked  his  companion,  smiling  at  his  excitement. 

"  Dat  she  not  love ;  she,  Marie  love  Napoleon  ;  non  /" 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?"  exclaimed  De  Cheville,  almost  rising 
to  his  feet,  as  if  the  thought  had  suddenly  occurred  to  him  also. 

"  Re'ly  !  assurement!  Ah  !  what  you  call?  certainly  !"  he  answered 
with  great  vehemence,  striding  rapidly  toward  the  end  of  the  corri 
dor,  and  still  nodding  his  head  in  growing  conviction,  as  one  circum 
stance  after  another  arose  to  his  memory.  De  Cheville  sank  bad- 
into  his  seat,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  while  visions  of 
happiness,  which  he  had  schooled  himself  to  reject  and  discourage 
came  thronging  through  his  excited  imagination. 

He  was  recalled  by  the  sound  of  a  strange  voice ;  and  on  looking 
up,  perceived  a  middle-aged  gentleman,  wearing  the  unmistakable  air 
and  dress  of  a  clergyman,  who  stepped  upon  the  corridor  and  inquired 
for  Monsieur  Maillefert. 

"Je  suis  Vhomme,  Monsieur"  said  that  gentleman,  halting  befor*> 
him  with  a  courtly  bow. 

"  My  name  is  McAllen,  Sir,"  the  stranger  said,  returning  his  sah 
tation.  "  I  have  some  business  with  a  Madame  Lefrette,  who  livt 
near  here,  and  have  been  referred  to  you,  as  a  person  probably  wil 
ing  to  accompany  me  to  her.  I  knew  her  father,"  he  added,  apolr 
getically,  "  in  my  boyhood,  but  am  not  personally  acquainted  witi 
her." 

"  I  go  with  mosh  plaisure,  Sare,"  said  M.  Maillefert.  "  You  sta;y 
man  ami ?"  he  added,  to  De  Cheville.  "  I  return  —  what  you  call?— 
forthwith!  Allans,  Monsieur!" 

The  two  walked  away  toward  Madame  Dupley's,  leaving  De  Che 
ville  pacing,  with  an  unquiet  step  and  perplexed  face,  up  and  down 
the  half  covered  corridor.  He  paused  from  time  to  time  at  the  end 
next  the  street,  and  once  stepped  down  upon  the  walk,  as  if  to  follow 
Monsieur  Maillefert  and  the  stranger ;  but  the  next  moment  a  shade 
of  irresolution  crossed  his  brow,  and  he  reluctantly  and  slowly 
retraced  his  steps.  He  felt  as  if  drawn  by  an  almost  irresistible 


308  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

attraction  toward  the  house  just  entered  by  his  friend ;  yet  the 
timidity  of  strong  affection,  and  the  delicacy  of  his  character,  re 
strained  the  impulse. 

The  stranger  bowed  low  as  he  entered  the  presence  of  Madame 
Lefrette ;  and  as  M.  Maillefert  introduced  him,  the  name  awakened 
recollections,  vague,  however,  and  indefinite.  She  received  him  with 
quiet  politeness ;  but  was  somewhat  disturbed  when  the  little  mon 
sieur  declined  the  seat  offered  him,  and  left  them  evidently  under  the 
impression  that  there  was  something  in  the  visit  which  required 
privacy. 

"  I  believe,  Madam,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  that  you  are  the 

daughter  of  the  late  Lee  Farrington,  formerly  of  B county,  in 

Kentucky  ?" 

"  I  am,  Sir,"  she  said,  inclining  her  head. 

"  I  was  sorry  to  learn,"  he  resumed,  "  on  my  arrival  here,  that  he 
was  no  longer  living  ;  for  I  had  hoped  to  do  an  act  of  justice  which 
was  but  too  long  delayed.  Do  you  recollect  ever  to  have  seen 
Miller  McAllen  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  the  name  frequently,"  said  she,  "  but  was  too 
young  when  I  was  in  Kentucky  to  remember  him,  if  I  had  seen  him, 
which  I  did  not." 

"  He  was  my  father,"  resumed  the  stranger.  "  He  died  a  few 
months  ago,  in  New-Orleans,  where  he  had  been  residing  since  my 
boyhood.  With  almost  his  last  breath,"  he  continued,  drawing  a 
paper  from  his  pocket,  "  he  directed  me  to  place  this  dying  declara 
tion  in  your  father's  hands,  and  to  ask  his  forgiveness  for  a  grievous 
wrong  done  many  years  ago.  It  now  belongs  to  you." 

She  took  the  paper,  and  without  opening  it  waited  for  explanation. 
It  was  evidently  an  unpleasant  duty  to  the  stranger ;  and  this  ren 
dered  his  narrative  somewhat  rambling  and  involved.  We  had  better, 
therefore,  simply  state  the  contents  of  the  paper. 

It  set  out  that  the  declarant,  Miller  McAllen,  had  been  many 
years  before  a  trusted  agent  of  Mr.  Farrington,  a  young  man  of  for 
tune,  from  Virginia,  who  had  emigrated  to  Kentucky,  and  become 
the  owner  of  a  large  amount  of  property  there,  consisting  chiefly  of 
i  very  extensive  grant  of  land.  Farrington  was  careless  and  roving, 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  309 

easily  disgusted  with  the  details  of  business,  and  trusting  his  affairs 
implicitly  to  agents.  About  the  year  179-,  he  had  gone  on  a  visit  to 
the  Western  frontier  settlements,  leaving  his  affairs  in  great  confu 
sion.  Before  going,  he  had  executed  a  lease  for  the  term  of  five 
years,  conveying  about  two-thirds  of  his  land  to  one  Robert  Crabell, 
and  placing  him  in  possession.  This  lease  had  been  executed  in 
duplicate,  one  copy  being  given  to  Crabell,  and  the  other  retained,  as 
Farrington's  agent,  by  the  declarant,  who  was  the  only  witness.  With 
this,  was  also  left  in  McAllen's  possession  the  original  grant,  upon 
which  Farrington's  title  rested. 

The  proprietor  himself  remained  so  long  in  the  West  that  a 
rumor  gained  credence  that  he  had  been  killed  by  the  Indians ;  and 
the  rapid  influx  of  emigration  enhanced  the  value  of  the  land  so 
much  as  to  present  a  strong  temptation  to  those  in  whose  power  it 
thus  seemed,  to  possess  themselves  of  the  legal  title.  The  accidental 
destruction  of  the  public  records  of  the  district  strengthened  the  pur 
pose,  and  rendered  it  safe.  The  two  papers  in  McAllen's  keeping 
were  the  only  existing  muniments  of  title. 

Crabell  and  his  two  brothers-in-law,  who  were  in  possession,  were 
aware  of  this  state  of  things,  and  immediately  opened  a  negotiation 
with  McAllen  to  secure  the  papers.  He  declined  to  part  with  them 
on  any  terms  ;  but,  after  several  weeks  of  hesitation,  finally  agreed, 
for  a  bribe  of  ten  thousand  dollars,  to  destroy  them.  Crabell  and 
his  confreres  had  not  so  much  money ;  and  it  thus  became  necessary 
to  take  into  their  counsel  other  persons,  willing  to  furnish  the  cash. 
It  was  these  other  persons  with  whom  Farrington  afterward  carried 
on  his  ineffectual  and  ruinous  legal  controversies. 

The  iniquitous  bargain  was  concluded ;  but  in  the  very  moment 
of  its  execution,  one  of  those  sudden  and  unaccountable  "  accesses  of 
conscience"  which  sometimes  come  to  the  greatest  villains,  arrested 
McAllen's  hand.  Instead  of  burning  the  papers,  as  he  assured  his 
conspirators  he  had  done,  he  placed  them  securely  in  his  own  strong 
box.  Subsequently,  disturbed  by  their  possession,  and  pressed  by 
conscience,  he  disposed  of  them  in  a  way  which  quieted  him  with  the 
fallacious  hope  that  they  might  one  day  fall  into  the  proper  hands, 
but  which,  it  seemed,  had  resulted  in  a  loss  as  total  as  if  they  had 


310  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

been  burnt.  He  had  them  built  into  the  chimney  of  a  house,  then 
being  erected  for  an  office,  and  thus  effectually  concealed. 

"  This  house,"  the  declaration  went  on  to  say,  "  is  the  one  now 

occupied  by  Mr.  Beman  as  an  office,  in  P ,  Kentucky  ;  and  the 

papers  will  be  found  in  the  chimney,  on  the  south  side,  five  courses 
of  brick  from  the  floor." 

"  But,"  said  the  clergyman,  at  this  point,  "  I  have  been  to  P , 

according  to  my  father's  direction,  and  found  that  the  old  building 
has  been  torn  away  for  more  than  six  months,  and  a  new  house  is 
now  in  process  of  erection  on  the  same  site." 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,"  said  Madame  Lefrette,  "  I  hear  the  voice 
of  this  same  Mr.  Beman."  And  a  moment  afterward  that  gentleman 
was  ushered  into  the  room. 


CONCLUSION. 

MONSIEUR  MAILLEFERT,  as  we  have  said,  declined  the  seat  offered 
him,  and  went  in  search  of  the  brisk  little  widow  Dupley.  He  found 
her  without  difficulty  ;  and,  in  view  of  his  age  and  well-accredited 
character  for  steadiness,  I  grieve  to  relate  that  his  first  movement 
was  to  throw  his  arm,  with  a  graceful  flourish,  around  her  plump 
figure,  and  sans  ceremonie,  snatch  two  or  three  kisses  from  her  full 
red  lips.  The  robbery  was,  however,  not  very  fiercely  resisted  ;  and 
an  observer  might  even  have  suspected  that  it  was  not  the  first 
depredation.  A  merry  laugh  and  a  volley  of  French  raillery,  dis 
charged  as  only  a  Frenchwoman  can  manage  such  &  fusillade,  were  his 
only  punishment.  She  did  not  remove  the  hand  which  grasped  her 
waist  until,  after  half  an  hour  spent  in  walking,  like  two  younger 
lovers,  up  and  down  the  floor,  they  were  interrupted  by  the  knock  of 
Mr.  Beman.  A  little  vexed,  even  then,  at  the  interruption,  she  ran 
to  the  door,  and  having  shown  the  lawyer  to  Madame  Lefrette's 
room,  came  hastily  back  to  her  youthful  swain. 

The  brief  interlude,  however,  had  given  him  time  to  recollect 
himself;  and  he  was  about  to  take  his  leave,  excusing  himself  upon 
the  ground  that  he  had  left  De  Cheville  waiting  for  him,  when  she 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  311 

suggested  that  he  call  the  latter  over,  declaring  that  she  had  not  seen 
him  for  an  age,  and  always  did  love  him  infiniment ! 

It  needed  but  this  to  overcome  De  Cheville's  wavering  resolution ; 
and  when  the  pair  came  to  the  gate  and  beckoned  him  across,  the 
alacrity  with  which  he  obeyed  the  summons  but  faintly  evinced  his 
pleasure.  He  might  not  see  Marie ;  but  even  to  stand  at  the 
threshold  of  her  residence  was  a  happiness  not  to  be  foregone. 

His  foot  had  hardly  passed  the  gateway  when  the  little  widow 
almost  overwhelmed  him  with  voluble  questions  and  congratulations 
upon  his  recovery. 

"  Blood-letting  must  agree  with  me,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "  if 
your  compliments  are  as  true  as  they  would  be  addressed  to  yourself." 

Monsieur  Maillefert  grasped  his  hand  cordially. 

" Mon  ami"  he  cried,  " you  speak  true — vary  —  Eh?  Madame 
is  my  vife,  sare  —  dat  is  —  vary  soon  !" 

"  Why  !  listen  to  the  crazy  little  man !"  exclaimed  the  merry 
widow,  with  a  twinkle  in  her  bright  black  eye,  which  contradicted  her 
denial.  "I  assure  you  I  have  just  rejected  him  tout  de  bon!" 

"  Call  me  as  a  witness  against  her !"  suddenly  cried  Marie  Le- 
frette,  springing,  with  a  laugh,  from  the  shelter  of  some  shrubbery, 
toward  wrhich  De  Cheville's  back  had  been  turned.  She  had  mis 
taken  him  for  some  one  else,  through  the  leafy  screen  ;  and  was  now 
advancing  with  a  quick  step  and  smiling  face,  when  he  suddenly 
turned  toward  her.  An  exclamation  of  surprise,  and  a  blush  to  the 
very  temples,  accompanied  the  recognition.  She  hastily  paused,  and 
seemed  about  to  fly,  when  De  Cheville  advanced,  and,  with  an  eager, 
though  respectful  gesture,  took  her  hand. 

"  You  seem  surprised  to  see  me,"  said  he,  in  a  low  tone,  "  and 
perhaps  I  ought  to  apologize  for  the  intrusion ;  but " 

"  Oh !  no,  indeed  !"  she  interrupted,  eagerly. 

"  Oh !  no,  indeed  !" '  repeated  her  aunt,  laughing  ;  "  she  is  only  a 
little  vexed  because  you  did  not  come  sooner !" 

"Aunt  Dupley,"  said  Marie,  recovering  her  self-possession,  and 
shaking  her  finger  playfully  at  the  merry  little  bride-expectant, 
"  would  you  like  to  have  me  tell  what  I  saw  in  the  parlor  half  an 
hour  ago  ?" 


312  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  We  will  not  stay  to  hear  it,"  she  answered,  with  an  affectation  of 
disdain,  which,  however,  did  not  conceal  the  blush  that  covered  her 
rosy  cheek.  "  Come,  Monsieur,"  she  continued,  taking  his  arm,  "  I 
have  never  shown  you  my  new  flower-beds ;  will  you  go  to  see  them 
now?" 

The  Monsieur  bowed  a  courtly  acquiescence,  and  the  pair  set  off 
towrard  the  garden. 

"  Will  you  not  let  us  admire  them  too,  aunt  ?"  said  Marie, 
hastily,  as  if  afraid  of  being  left  alone. 

"  Oh !  yes,"  she  answered  ;  "  you  may  come  along,  if  Monsieur  De 
Cheville  will  pledge  himself  for  your  good  behavior." 

"  I  '11  give  you  a  bond  if  you  wish  it,"  said  De  Cheville,  offering 
Marie  his  arm.  This,  however,  she  declined,  and  walked  on  by  his 
side,  talking  rapidly,  and  with  some  excitement  in  her  manner,  as 
if  fearful  of  the  introduction  of  some  unpleasant  subject.  De  Che 
ville  observed  this,  but,  with  a  sigh,  endeavored  to  reply  to  her  in 
her  own  strain.  They  followed  her  aunt  and  the  Monsieur,  pausing 
from  time  to  time,  as  the  former  directed  their  attention  to  various 
improvements  in  her  tasteful  plats  and  beds,  until  they  had  nearly 
reached  the  lower  end  of  the  garden.  Here  two  or  three  native  trees 
of  the  forest  had  been  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  exotic  shrubs  and 
plants ;  these  had  reared  their  luxuriant  heads  to  the  lowrer  branches, 
and  formed  within  a  cool  pavilion  of  green  foliage.  A  narrow 
entrance  had  been  left  on  the  southern  side,  and  within  were  erected 
several  rustic  benches.  At  this  point  Madame  Dupley  and  her 
cavalier  suddenly  disappeared ;  and  Marie  and  De  Cheville,  supposing 
they  had  entered,  passed  in  and  found  themselves  secluded  and  alone  ! 

"  Why !  where  can  they  have  gone  ?"  she  exclaimed,  calling 
loudly,  but  tremulously,  her  aunt's  name. 

No  answer  was '  returned,  save  the  echoes  of  her  own  voice, 
coming  back  from  the  surrounding  solitude.  * 

"  They  are  somewhere  near,"  she  said,  trembling  in  every  limb ; 
"  let  us  search  for  them."  And  she  approached  the  entrance. 

"  Marie,"  said  De  Cheville,  all  his  resolutions  melting  away  before 
the  temptation  of  opportunity,  "  will  you  not  remain  here  with  me 
for  a  few  moments  ]" 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  313 

He  took  her  hand  as  he  spoke,  and  gently  drew  her,  yielding 
reluctantly,  to  a  seat.  Then,  without  premeditation,  he  dropped 
upon  one  knee  before  her,  and  poured  forth  that  eloquence  which 
gushes  from  a  full  and  loving  heart.  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands  as  he  proceeded,  and  tears  of  mingled  happiness  and  sorrow 
evinced  the  conflict  of  her  emotions. 

In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Beman  had  been  introduced  to  McAllen, 
and  had  listened  attentively  to  his  story,  and  carefully  read  the 
declaration. 

"  You  say,"  said  he,  "  that  you  have  carefully  examined  the  place 
of  deposit  indicated  here,  which,  singularly  enough,  seems  to  have 
been  my  office  1" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  McAllen  answered ;  "  and  the  workmen  said  they  had 
seen  nothing  of  any  papers  in  taking  down  the  chimney.  I  even  had 
the  floors  lifted,  and  a  strict  search  made ;  but  was  reluctantly  forced 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  papers  had  been  destroyed." 

"  If  we  had  those  documents,"  said  Beman,  musingly,  "  this 
declaration  would  be,  though  not  strictly  legal  evidence,  of  great 
service.  By  establishing  the  fact  of  your  father's  death  we  might  be 
permitted  to  prove  his  hand-writing.  But,  as  it  is,  this  seems  only 
to  ascertain  that  a  great  wrong  has  been  done,  without  giving  the 
means  of  righting  it." 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  elder  Le  Vert,  who 
accompanied  his  announcement  with  a  stately  bow  first  to  Madame 
Lefrette,  and  then  to  the  two  gentlemen,  and,  declining  the  seat  offered 
him,  at  once  addressed  the  former. 

"  I  have  but  a  few  moments  to  spare,"  he  said,  in  that  tone  which 
seemed  to  declare  his  time  more  valuable  and  his  business  more 
important  than  those  of  any  one  else  ;  "  will  you  allow  me  to  speak 
with  you  in  private,  Madam  T' 

Madame  Lefrette  rose,  and  without  replying,  led  the  way  into 
another  room.  Here  he  again  declined  a  seat,  and  without  preface, 
with  the  rashness  which  always  indicates  the  trepidation  of  fear  or  of 
conscious  meanness,  declared  his  business. 

"  My  son,  Napoleon,"  he  commenced,  "  informed  me  to-day  that 
he  has  not  seen  your  daughter  for  several  weeks." 


314  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  He  informed  you  truly,  Sir,"  said  Madame  Lefrette,  calmly ; 
"  he  has  not  seen  her  since  her  father's  death  disclosed  her  poverty." 

Le  Vert  had  the  grace  almost  to  blush,  but  went  on  : 

"  I  had  for  some  time  suspected  something  of  the  sort " 

Madame  Lefrette  smiled  quietly  in  his  face.;  she  knew  he  had 
been  fully  aware  of  it. 

" and,"   he  continued,  more  rapidly,   "what  Napoleon  told 

me,  only  confirmed  my  apprehension,  that  his  engagement  with 
Marie  had  become  somewhat  irksome  to  both  parties  ;  and  that, 
in  short " 

"  In  short,"  she  interposed,  calmly,  "  it  were  better  broken  off. 
Is  not  that  what  you  mean  T' 

"  Well  —  that  is "  he  began. 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  she  interrupted.  "And  now  let  it  be 
considered  ended,  expressly,  as  it  has  been  tacitly,  for  some  time." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  its  end  must  date  from  this 
moment  —  as  a  mutual  agreement  —  neither  party  being  liable  to  the 
charge  of  bad  faith." 

"  Let  it  be  so,  then,"  she  said  with  a  scornful  smile ;  for  she 
divined  his  thoughts.  "  Legal  proceedings,  in  such  matters,  are  not 
to  my  taste." 

"  It  is  settled,  then,"  he  returned,  unbending  his  dignity  a  little, 
"  and  I  hope  without  unkind  feeling  1" 

"  With  heartfelt  rejoicing,  rather,"  she  replied,  accepting  his  hand 
for  a  moment,  and  returning  his  profound  salutation,  as  he  bade  her  a 
stately  adieu. 

Madame  Dupley  and  M.  Maillefert  entered  the  room  as  he  left  it. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  Marie  is  ?"  asked  Madame  Lefrette. 

"  We  have  just  left  her  in  the  garden,"  the  little  widow  replied, 
with  a  glance  of  merry  intelligence  toward  Monsieur  Maillefert, 
which  that  gentleman  returned  with  a  twinkle  of  his  laughing  eye. 
Madame  Lefrette  did  not  observe  this  telegraphing,  but  went  imme 
diately  in  search  of  her  daughter.  Passing  along  the  main  walk,  a 
few  moments  brought  her  near  the  natural  summer-house,  where  we 
left  De  Cheville  and  Marie.  Here  the  tones  of  his  voice,  not  loud, 
but  impassioned  and  trembling,  came,  softened  by  the  leafy  screen, 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  315 

but  still  distinctly  audible.  The  mother  paused  to  listen ;  and,  as 
she  recognized  the  voice,  a  flush  of  surprise  and  pleasure  crossed  her 
handsome  face. 

"  But  I  must  speak  now"  De  Cheville  said,  apparently  in  reply  to  her 
imploring  for  delay.  "  I  have  been,  silent  until  the  words  will  no  longer 
be  restrained ;  my  heart  is  too  full,  and  I  must  speak  now.  You 
know  how  I  have  loved  you  —  how  long,  and  how  well.  I  will  not 
believe  —  nay,  I  can  not  believe  —  that  you  have  been  indifferent  to 
that  love.  Let  me,  at  least,  hear  you  say  that  I  have  not  built  my 
hopes  altogether  upon  the  sand ;  that,  whatever  your  feelings  may  be 
to-day,  in  times  past  you  have  known,  and  felt,  and  appreciated,  the 
devotion  I  have  given  you !" 

"  But,  De  Cheville,"  she  sobbed,  "  you  know  I  am  not  free ;  you 
know  I  am " 

"  Engaged  to  another.  I  know  it ;  I  do  know  it !"  he  exclaimed 
impetuously.  "  But  I  know,  also,  that  you  have  not  seen  him  during 
all  the  afflictions  through  which  you  have  passed.  I  know  that  he 
shuns  you  like  a  stranger,  leaving  you  to  bear  your  burden  alone ! 
This  engagement  no  longer  binds  you !  You  can  not  —  I  am  sure, 
you  can  not  —  give  up  the  devotion  I  offer  you,  for  a  hand  which,  if 
ever  given  at  all,  will  be  as  cold  as  ice !" 

Marie's  convulsive  sobbing  could  no  longer  be  restrained;  it 
became  audible  even  where  her  mother  stood,  and  seemed  the  very 
bursting  of  her  heart.  A  tear  of  maternal  sympathy  filled  the  eye 
of  the  latter ;  a  tear  of  sympathy,  yet,  also,  of  happiness.  "  This  is 
too  great  a  trial  for  her,"  she  thought ;  and,  advancing  toward  the 
arbor,  called  her  daughter's  name.  Marie  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  was 
hastily  drying  her  tears  when  her  mother  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  You  need  not  wipe  them  away,  Marie,"  said  she,  smiling  with 
an  expression  which  made  De  Cheville's  heart  spring  to  his  throat. 
"  I  have  overheard  enough  to  satisfy  me  that  you  had  better  let  them 
flow ;  for  I  am  sure  they  are  as  much  tears  of  joy  as  of  sorrow." 

Marie  threw  herself  in  her  mother's  arms,  and  gave  way  to  "her 
weeping.  Madame  Lefrette  placed  her  hand  tenderly  upon  her  head, 
and  looked  at  De  Cheville. 

"  You  love  her,  then  ?"  she  said. 


316  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  I  do,"  he  replied  fervently,  "  better  than  life !" 

"And  wish  to  make  her  yours?"  she  continued. 

"  I  do,"  he  again  replied.     "  She  has  told  me " 

"  I  heard  what  she  said,"  interrupted  the  mother.  "  And  now  I 
must  have  some  conversation  with  her.  Will  you  continue  in  the 
same  mind  till  to-morrow,  think  you  V 

De  Cheville  smiled  faintly.     "  I  fear  I  shall,"  said  he. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  Madame  Lefrette  continued ;  "  come  to  us  at 
three  to-morrow,  and  Marie  shall  give  you  your  answer.  Can  you 
curb  your  impatience  so  long  ?" 

"  I  will  try,"  he  said,  and  with  a  bow,  left  the  mother  and  daugh 
ter  alone  together. 


IN  justices'  courts,  it  is  always  two  o'clock  till  the  third  hour  is 
complete ;  but  among  the  suitors  in  the  courts  of  Cupid,  the  "  prac 
tice"  is  reversed ;  and  no  lover  ever  had  an  appointment  which  he  did 
not  meet  before  the  time.  De  Cheville  was  no  exception  to  the 
remark. 

At  least  half  an  hour  before  three  o'clock,  on  the  following  day, 
his  patience  was  exhausted,  and  his  nervous  eagerness  beyond  resist 
ance.  He  walked  resolutely  to  the  house  where  the  great  question 
of  his  life  was  to  be  solved,  and  was  archly  shown  into  the  parlor  by 
Madame  Dupley.  Marie's  mother  sat  near  the  window,  alone.  It 
was  with  a  sinking  heart  that  he  took  the  seat  to  which  she  directed 
him.  His  voice  was  hardly  sufficient  to  reply  to  her  grave  observa 
tion  upon  the  fineness  of  the  weather. 

Other  common-places  followed,  solemn  as  a  funeral.  A  quarter 
of  an  hour  passed,  and  De  Cheville  believed  himself  older  by,  at  least, 
a  twelve-month.  He  was  about  to  rise  and  retire  —  deeming  this 
only  a  delicate  way  of  conveying  a  negative  —  when  the  voice  of 
Marie  was  heard  upon  the  corridor,  and  Madame  Lefrette  suddenly 
turned  toward  him. 

"  Your  mind  has  not  changed,  Monsieur  ?"  she  asked  hastily. 

De  Cheville  began  awkwardly  to  protest  his  undying  fidelity, 
when  Marie's  entrance  interrupted  him. 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  317 

"  Enough,  I  understand,"  said  Madame  Lefrette ;  and,  rising,  she 
approached  her  daughter,  who  had  paused  suddenly,  in  surprise  at 
seeing  him  already  present.  Her  mother  took  her  hand,  and  placed 
it  in  his. 

"  This  is  her  answer,"  she  said,  and  glided  from  the  room,  leav 
ing  the  pair,  with  joined  hands,  gazing  bewildered  into  each  other's 
eyes.  De  Cheville  was  the  first  to  recover  himself;  with  a  sudden 
and  passionate  gesture,  he  caught  her  to  his  bosom.  Madame  Lefrette 
closed  the  door. 

To  her  infinite  surprise,  almost  at  the  threshold,  she  met  Mon 
sieur  Le  Vert  and  Mr.  Beman !  To  the  latter  she  gave  her  hand ;  to 
the  former,  a  salutation  as  stately,  though  not  so  eager,  as  his  own. 

"  Walk  into  this  room,  gentlemen,"  said  she,  leading  them  away 
from  the  parlor,  wrhich  she  deemed  already  sufficiently  tenanted. 

"  I  have  called  to-day,"  M.  Le  Vert  commenced,  as  soon  as  they 
were  seated,  "to  correct  a  mistake  into  which  I  unfortunately  fell 
yesterday ;  and  I  do  so  at  the  request  of  Napoleon,  who  is  very  much 
distressed " 

"Indeed!"  said  Madame  Lefrette,  in  surprise. 

"  He  is,  indeed,  Madame :  Mr.  Beman  will  confirm  it." 

"  I  believe  what  he  says  is  quite  true,"  said  that  gentleman,  with, 
however,  an  equivocal  smile. 

"  I  asked  him  to  accompany  me,"  continued  Le  Vert,  "  in  order  to 
avouch  the  distress  of  my  son " 

"And  to  be  a  witness  of  your  conversation,"  interpolated  Beman. 

"And  —  yes  —  to  hear  me  acknowledge  how  much  mistaken  I 
have  been,"  the  anxious  father  continued,  "  and  to  propose,  for  the 
happiness  of  my  son,  and,  I  trust,  of  your  daughter,  that  the  engage 
ment  between  them  may  be  reinstated  on  its  former  footing.  Napo 
leon  would  have  come  in  person ;  but  he  insisted  that  I  should  first 
undo  the  evil  I  alone  had  done." 

"Is  there  any  thing  behind  all  this,  Mr.  Beman?"  asked  the 
widow,  appealing  to  him  as  if  at  a  loss  what  to  say. 

"  Only  half-a-million  of  dollars,"  drily  answered  the  lawyer. 

"  Villain !"  exclaimed  Le  Vert,  springing  to  his  feet  as  if  to  strike 
him. 


318  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"Keep  cool,  Monsieur,"  calmly  remonstrated  Beman,  "until  I 
explain.  You  are  aware,  Madame,"  he  continued,  turning  quietly  to 
the  widow,  "  that  the  recovery  of  your  father's  estates  would  have 
been  easy,  but  for  the  loss  of  two  papers  and  the  disappearance  of 
one  witness.  Those  two  papers  I  have  for  some  time  had  in  my 
possession.  I  did  not  mention  the  fact  to  you,  because  the  witness 
was  still  to  be  found,  and  I  did  not  wrish  to  raise  hopes  that  might  be 
disappointed.  The  grant,  or  warrant,  alone,  was  not  sufficient ;  for 
the  'Statute  of  Limitations'  —  which  enacts  that  if  you  can  continue 
a  wrong  for  a  certain  number  of  years,  the  law  will  perpetuate  it  by 
pronouncing  it  a  right  —  would  have  cut  us  off;  and  the  rules  apply 
ing  to  the  lease  —  a  part  of  whose  meaning  is,  that  no  wrong  can  be 
righted  until  you  have  first  proven  that  no  wrong  has  been  commit 
ted* —  would  have  enabled  the  other  party  to  put  us  upon  the  proof 
of  the  signatures.  But  for  the  opportune  appearance  of  Mr.  McAllen, 
this  would  have  been  impossible.  Now,  we  shall  be  able  to  account 
for  the  witness,  and  for  the  custody  of  the  papers ;  and  shall,  also,  be 
able  to  introduce  other  testimony,  which  would  otherwise  have  been 
excluded. 

"All  this,  you  will  say,"  continued  the  lawyer,  "docs  not  explain 
the  sudden  revolution  disclosed  in  the  sentiments  of  Napoleon  Le 
Vert  and  his  father.  But  listen  a  few  moments.  About  two  thou 
sand  dollars  will  be  necessary  in  order  to  prosecute  the  affair  to  a 
successful  issue.  I  knew  you  could  not  raise  this ;  but  I  had  heard 
that  the  young  man  and  Marie  were  to  be  married,  and  I  therefore, 
this  morning,  told  him  the  whole  story.  I  must  do  him  and  his  father 
the  justice  to  say,  that  they  promptly  offered  to  furnish  the  money — 
informing  me,  at  the  same  time,  of  the  mistake  of  yesterday,  and 
exacting  a  promise  that  I  would  accompany  Monsieur  Le  Vert  hither, 
and  throw  my  weight  into  the  scale," 

"Your  weight  will  hardly  be  sufficient,  Sir,"  said  Madame 
Lefrette,  waving  her  hand  to  silence  Le  Vert,  who  was  about  to 
speak. 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,"  said  Beman  calmly,  "  and  rejoice  that  it  is 

*  Id  e*t,  before  you  can  avoid  the  operation  of  the  "  Statute"  named  in  the  text,  (in  matters 
of  ejectment)  you  must  prove  that  there  has  been  no  "adverse,"  or  wrongful,  "possession.1' 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  310 

so.  Since  this  morning,  I  have  had  a  conversation  with  Monsieur 
Maillefert,  who  made  no  scruple  to  tell  me  of  Marie's  preference  for 
De  Cheville.  He,  also,  at  once  furnished  the  requisite  money,  for 
which  I  gave  him  a  receipt,  as  your  attorney ;  but  not  until  he  had 
established  his  right  to  do  this  kindness,  by  informing  me  that  he  is 
about  to  become  your  brother-in-law !" 

"  Is  this  true,  Madame  f  exclaimed  Le  Vert,  purple  with  passion, 
and  hardly  able  to  wait  for  Bcman  to  conclude.  "  Is  my  son  jilted 
for  this  upstart  ?" 

"  I  can  not  permit  this  language  here,  Sir,"  said  she,  with  eyes 
flashing  the  ire  of  insulted  pride. 

"Let  me  represent  you,"  said  Beman  quietly.  "Monsieur,  I 
think  your  negotiation  has  failed,  and  you  had  better  let  rne  escort 
you  to  the  door.  And,"  he  added  in  a  low  tone,  as  the  discomfited 
old  gentleman  allowed  himself  to  be  gently  ejected,  "  you  may  con 
sider  yourself  well  off,  if  I  do  not  too  closely  scan  your  accounts  as 
administrator !" 

A  look  of  consternation  was  his  only  reply ;  at  least,  if  he 
intended  any  other,  Beman  did  not  wait  for  it,  but  closed  the  door 
and  returned  to  the  window. 


ABOUT  the  middle  of  October  —  when  the  "  Indian  summer"  had 
veiled  the  prairies,  and  the  distant  woods  wore  a  hazy  blue,  and  the 
sky  seemed  charged  with  rain  that  never  fell  —  one  pleasant  evening, 
when  the  winds  were  low,  and  the  moon  rose  dusky  red,  and  the  stars 
shone  faintly  through  the  gauzy  screen  —  after  sunset,  when  the  dark 
ness  had  come  in,  yet  the  daylight  lingered  still,  when  the  gay  Kas- 
kaskians  were  all  upon  the  street,  and  care  was  driven  out  by  laugh 
ter  —  a  stream  of  guests,  of  every  age  and  sex,  began  to  pour  into  the 
house  of  Monsieur  Maillefert.  The  master  and  mistress,  who  had 
been  married  a  month,  at  the  close  of  the  carnival-honeymoon,  were 
celebrating  a  sort  of  "  Pancake  Tuesday ;"  but  the  brightness  of  their 
faces,  and  their  unaffected  joyousness  of  manner,  gave  no  token  of  the 
matrimonial  Lent,  which  the  world  supposes  invariably  to  follow  that 


320  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

festival.     Ash  Wednesday  never  came  in  the  nuptial  calendar  of  that 
simple  pair. 

The  Monsieur's  closing  fete,  but  for  the  sad  affray  between  De 
Cheville  and  Le  Vert,  had  been  a  grand  affair ;  but  this  occasion  quite 
eclipsed  its  grandeur.  Female  hands  had  now  been  busied  with  the 
preparations ;  female  taste  had  twined  the  wreaths,  and  arranged  the 
flowers,  and  decorated  the  rooms ;  and  not  a  guest,  of  all  that  com 
pany,  came  in  without  admiring  the  proofs  of  female  presence. 

Before  eight  o'clock  the  house  was  full ;  and  yet,  although  the 
buzz  of  animated  conversation  and  the  ring  of  merry  laughter  filled 
the  air,  the  stated  pleasures  of  the  evening  had  not  yet  commenced. 
Monsieur  Maillefert  and  his  joyous  little  wife  had  quietly  slipped 
away  for  half  an  hour  or  more,  but  no  body  was  surprised  at  their 
absence.  They  had  crossed  the  street  to  witness  the  marriage  cere 
mony  between  Marie  Lafrette  and  De  Cheville,  and  all  knew  that 
they  would  soon  return,  bringing  with  them  the  happy  pair,  in  whose 
honor  the  company  was  assembled. 

Their  absence  seemed  protracted  to  the  waiting  throng ;  but  at 
length  the  word  was  passed  that  they  were  coming,  and  a  little  pro 
cession  of  about  a  dozen  persons,  all  decked  with  wreaths  and  flowers, 
and  in  bridal  and  holiday  attire,  came  marching,  in  a  shadowy  though 
shining  train,  across  the  moonlit  street.  Gay  groups  of  friends 
assembled  at  the  gate,  and  welcomed  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  who 
led  the  little  cortege.  Then  came  the  mother,  cheerful  and  calm,  lean 
ing  upon  the  arm  of  Mr.  Bcman.  The  active  aunt,  with  her  spring 
ing  step,  kept  even  pace  with  her  laughing  husband.  Kisses  and  con 
gratulations  were  showered  on  them  all,  and  jest  and  laugh  went 
round  the  groups,  as  if  each  were  striving  to  be  merrier  than  all 
others. 

The  host's  clear  voice  was  now  heard  calling  them  within,  and  — 
a  summons  quite  as  moving  —  notes  of  preparation  from  the  fiddles 
came  mellowed  through  the  windows.  The  company  in  the  large 
saloon  retired  to  the  walls ;  the  Monsieur  led  De  Cheville  and  his 
bride,  with  a  grace  unrivalled,  to  the  head  of  the  room ;  the  dancers 
took  their  places.  At  a  signal  from  the  master,  the  fiddlers  drew 
their  bows  with  a  vigor  known  only  to  those  primitive  days.  De 


MARIE    LEFRETTE.  321 

Cheville  took  Marie's  hand,  and  all  admired  the  lithe  and  bending 
figures,  as  they  floated  down  the  room.  Close  after  them  came  Mon 
sieur  Maillefert  and  his  active  bride,  with  rapid  feet  and  cloudless 
faces ;  and  then  such  crossing  in  and  out,  such  swinging  right  and 
left,  such  airy  harmony  of  movement,  such  natural  grace  and  deep 
enjoyment  have  not  been  seen  in  Kaskaskia  since  the  Monsieur's 
school  was  closed. 

With  a  delicate,  though  healthy,  bloom  upon  her  cheeks,  with 
eyes  sparkling  happiness  and  love,  the  young  bride  seemed  wafted 
through  the  figure ;  and  when,  with  one  bright  glance  into  his  eyes, 
she  placed  her  arm  within  De  Cheville's,  and  retired  from  the  floor,  a 
murmur  of  unenvying  admiration  passed  along  the  ranks  of  pleased 
spectators. 

As  they  approached  the  window,  and  stood  leaning  there,  a  pass 
ing  figure,  muffled  in  a  cloak,  paused  for  a  moment,  and  looked  in. 
Could  they  have  seen  the  fierce  hatred  of  that  look,  so  happy  as  they 
were,  they  could  but  have  pitied  him  from  whose  heart  such  bitter 
ness  could  rise.  They  saw  him  not,  however ;  and,  with  that  devilish 
glance,  he  gathered  up  his  cloak,  and  passed  on.  It  was  Napoleon  Le 
Vert,  who  thus  gazed  on  what  his  mercenary  soul  had  lost  him. 

After  midnight  the  fete  broke  up ;  but  the  memory  of  that  evening 
did  not  pass  away  with  the  night ;  for  many  an  old  Kaskaskian  can 
recall  this  brilliant  commencement  of  the  happy  married  life  of  De 
Cheville  and  his  peerless  bride. 


AND  so  to  conclude. 

Soon  after  his  marriage,  De  Cheville  discovered  that  he  had 
acquired,  unawares,  one  of  the  greatest  fortunes  then  in  the  West ; 
but,  as  the  prospect  had  not  influenced,  the  possession  did  not  injure, 
him.  Both  he  and  his  yet  lovely  wife  have  borne  themselves  meekly 
in  their  prosperity ;  and  if  an  austere  economist  might  carp  at  the 
style  of  their  living,  he  could,  at  least,  never  reproach  them  with  vul 
gar  ostentation,  of  reckless  profusion  in  unworthy  pursuits  or  for 
unworthy  objects,  nor  instance  any  refusal  of  assistance  to  the  needy 
and  deserving.  De  Cheville  occupies  a  high  federal  station  ;  and  his 
21 


322  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

wife,  in  the  very  bloom  of  her  matronly  beauty,  is  still  one  of  the 
fairest  ornaments  of  her  brilliant  circle. 

A  year  after  Marie's  nuptials,  the  attachment  which  had  quietly 
grown  up  between  her  mother  and  Mr.  Beman,  but  which  had  never 
been  expressed,  was  spoken  and  acknowledged ;  and  when  she  had 
given  a  few  more  months  to  her  weeds,  in  the  beginning  of  the  Christ 
mas  feasts,  she  exchanged  them  for  new  bridal  ornaments. 

The  light-hearted  and  amiable  Monsieur  Maillcfert  and  his  kind 
and  active  spouse  have  both  gone  to  their*  rest ;  but  a  son  and  a 
daughter  faithfully  bring  down  their  memories,  and  honor  them  by 
blameless  lives. 

But  two  of  our  dramatis  persona  remain  to  be  accounted  for ;  the 
elder  and  younger  Le  Vert. 

The  former  settled  up  the  business  of  his  administration,  without 
interference  from  any  quarter,  and,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  to  his  own  satis 
faction.  His  trade  was  rapidly  increased,  and  streams  of  affluence 
poured  in  upon  him  for  several  years,  precisely  as  if  his  capital  had 
been  honestly  acquired.  But  the  evil  propensities  of  his  son,  deve 
loped  by  enlarged  means  of  dissipation,  were  a  fountain  of  bitterness 
in  his  later  years ;  and  the  consequences  of  a  brawl,  in  which  the  lat 
ter  had  committed  a  homicide,  during  one  of  his  annual  visits  to 
New-Orleans,  gave  a  blow  to  both  the  health  and  fortune  of  the  for 
mer,  from  which  he  never  recovered.  Napoleon  escaped  the  penalty 
of  his  crime ;  but  it  was  at  the  cost  of  nearly  all  his  father's  hard- 
earned  and  ill-gotten  gains ;  and  as,  after  this,  the  elder  sank  rapidly 
into  poverty  and  imbecility,  the  younger  speedily  reached  the  depths 
to  which  gambling  and  drunkenness  drag  their  votaries.  He  finally 
died  in  a  disgraceful  rencontre  in  the  streets  of  the  same  city  where 
he  had  so  narrowly  escaped  a  death  but  little  different. 

The  quaint  old  town  of  Kaskaskia  still  holds  a  place  upon  the 
map;  and  light  hearts  and  simple  lives  are  as  numerous  there  as 
ever.  She  has  long  been  overshadowed  by  her  neighbors  ;  but  if,  in 
her  quiet  streets,  she  miss  the  active  bustle  of  the  marts  of  commerce, 
and  lose  something  of  the  exhilaration  of  enterprise,  she  gains  far 
more  in  amiable  cheerfulness,  whose  calm  is  not  broken  by  the  heated 
passions,  and  sordid  schemes  of  more  engrossing  pursuits. 


o 


|arl 


BY    CIIABLES    G.    LELAND. 


na 


"  WE  shall  drink  beer  in  heaven 
From  the  skulls  of  our  enemies.11 

EEGNEE  LODBEOO. 

THE  lightning  grew  pale, 
And  the  thunder  was  dumb. 
As  if  the  old  devil 
In  person  had  come, 
When  in  vengeance  and  fury 
The  Death-raven  black, 
The  Yikingir  ALVAR 
Came  sweeping  the  track. 
"  Great  ODIN,  thou  storm-god  ! 
Crack  on  with  our  ship  ! 
We  are  off  on  a  batter, 
Hurrah  !  let  her  rip  !  '' 
So  the  wild  pirate  shouted 
In  madness  and  scorn, 
While  down  went  the  liquor 
And  round  went  the  horn. 

So  all  hands,  as  you  see,  kept 
a  good  head  of  steam  on  ! 

By  the  sea,  by  the  mountain, 
On  Norway's  strand, 


3:24  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 


BREXHILDA,  the  peerless, 
Sat  high  on  the  sand ; 
"When,  smack !  o'er  the  water 
In  time  double  quick, 
Great  ALVAR  came  down, 
Like  a  thousand  of  brick. 
Splash !  into  the  ocean 
The  Yikingir  sprung, 
And  pick-back  the  princess 
O'er  shoulders  he  flung : 
Like  an  arrow  he  darted 
The  wild  billows  through, 
And  into  the  "  Dragon," 
BRENHILDA  he  threw, 

"While  all  hands  gave  a 

yell  and  took  drinks  on  the  strength  of  it ! 

By  the  Gods  of  VALHALLA  ! 

I  'm  done  for !"  she  cried. 
"  By  THOR  and  by  thunder ! 

You  are  /"  he  replied. 

No  more  spake  the  maiden, 

No  more  spake  her  lord, 

But  he  stamped  on  the  short  deck 

And  brandished  his  sword. 
"  There  's  a  sail  to  the  leeward ! 

A  sail  in  our  path ! 

Do  you  hear  1  blood  and  brimstone ! 

Lok !  blazes !  and  wrath ! 

The  bier-sucker  madness 

Is  boiling  me  through !" 

Then  he  took  a  "  long  drink," 

And  right  into  it  flew, 

While  the  Ravens  all 

round  took  a  horn  and  went  nt  it. 

Oh !  then  on  the  helmets 
The  death-biters  rang, 
While  ALVAR,  the  Raven, 
Swore,  murdered,  and  sang: 


THE    WEDDING-TRIP    OF    JARL    ALVAR    RAFN.  325 

"  The  deck  is  blood-painted  — 
A  wound,  all  the  bay  — 
While  round  rage  the  sea-wolves 
And  fight  for  their  prey. 
BRENUILDA  !  land-maiden  I 
Look  up,  and  you  '11  find 
How  the  Raven  can  '  go  it,' 
When  once  he  "s  inclined. 
See  these  skulls  1  how  I  split  'em ! 
These  throats  how  I  slice  ; 
And  all  for  thy  sake,  love ! 
Thou  pearl  beyond  price  !" 

So  the  fight  being  over 

they  all  went  and  liquored. 

"  The  VALKYRIES  scream 

For  the  souls  of  the  dead, 

While  BALDER,  the  Sun-God, 

Shines  down  on  our  head!" 

So,  like  good,  pious  fellows, 

They  knelt  on  the  deck, 

And  thanked  the  great  gods 

That  their  foe  was  a  wreck. 

For  on  points  of  religion 

Great  ALVAR  was  "  strict," 

And  always  "  held  prayers" 

When  a  ship  had  been  licked. 

On  a  prisoner  they  found, 

By  unanimous  vote, 

They  first  carved  the  eagle, 
(  And  then  cut  his  throat ; 

Then,  church  being  over, 
adjourned  for  refreshment. 

And  over  the  ocean 
And  over  the  foam, 
Like  a  shot  from  a  shovel 
The  YIKIXGIRS  come. 
Loud  roared  the  wild  tempest, 
.Loud  roared  the  mad  sea, 


326  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLKKV. 

But  louder  great  ALVAR 
Sang  forth  in  his  glee : 
"  Grim  spectres  sweep  o'er  us 
In  lightning  or  gloom, 
1  see  their  eyes  gleaming 
Like  fire  round  a  tomb : 
The  Runes  of  the  valiant 
Dead  heroes  obey, 
Let 's  pitch  into  Naples 
And  plunder  and  prey!" 

So  they  gave  him  three  cheers, 
and  then  emptied  a  barrel. 

"  Set  fire  to  the  churches ! 
Set  fire  to  the  town ! 
Grab,  murder,  and  plunder. 
Drag  out  and  knock  down ! 
Go  it  strong,  ye  brave  Northmen. 
Crush,  tumble,  and  slash  !" 
Roared  the  JARL,  as  with  oach  liniid 
He  held  a  mustache, 
/\     And  glared  on  the  town. 
Like  a  wild  devil  grim : 
An  AESIR  in  fury, 
A  JOTUN  in  limb. 
Now  the  blue  shields  are  crimson. 
The  spires  are  in  flame, 
But  on  pitch  the  Ravens, 
All  grit  and  all  game: 

Only  stopping  to  bolt 

down  the  wine  on  the  altar. 


Like  fiends  winged  for  murder 
The  arrows  flew  forth, 
While  red  swords  were  ringing 
The  knell  from  the  North, 
And  maces,  deep  mashing, 
Laid  saints  in  the  mud ; 
While  the  black  crow  and  eagle 
Went  wading  in  blood. 


THE    WEDDING-TRIP    OF    JARL    ALVAR    RAFN.  327 

But  where  flames  were  loud  roaring 
•   With  Death  by  his  side, 

Eose  the  giant  Jarl  Alvar, 

In  glory  and  pride. 
"  We  have  thrashed  them  to  flinders 

And  knocked  'em  from  time ! 

BRENHILDA,  thou  white  one 

Say — as  n't  it  prime  ?" 

While  the  Northmen 

all  round  took  a  drink  from  their  helmets. 

"The  men  are  all  murdered, 
The  town  all  aflame ; 
And  we  've  bagged  all  the  pewter ; 
Let 's  slope  whence  we  came ! 
And  under  a  full  head 
Of  glory  we  go : 
No  scald  now,  thank  BRAGA  ! 
Can  chalk  us  as  '  slow.' 
To  our  Death  Dragon  hasten  : 
How  stately  and  light 
She  rides  the  bright  Belt 
Of  the  Daughter  of  Night ! 
And  be  glad !  for  our  voyage 
Full  plainly  hath  shown 
That  the  gods,  when  we  're  pious, 
Look  after  their  own." 

So  they  took  one  good 
horn,  and  went  off  in  the  Dragon 


f  0rtntit 


BY    GEORGE    W.   CURTIS. 


'  So,  I  shall  find  out  some  snug  corner 
Under  a  hedge,  like  ORSON  the  wood-knight, 
Turn  myself  round  and  bid  the  world  good  night ; 
And  sleep  a  sound  sleep  till  the  trumpet's  blowing 
"Wakes  me  (unless  priests  cheat  us  laymen) 
To  a  world  whereas  to  be  no  further  throwing 
Pearls  before  swine  that  can't  value  them.    Amen  !" 

EGBERT  BROWNING'S  "  FLIGHT  OF  THE  DUCHESS." 


THE  Marquis  di  Sangrido  owns  the  grim  old  palace  that 
fronts  the  public  square  in  Rieti.  He  is  not  a  favorite  with  the 
peasants.  Even  the  children  of  that  little  Italian  town  pass  the 
great  door  or  portone  of  the  palace  hurriedly,  and  their  prattle  sinks 
into  a  whisper  "beneath  those  gloomy  windows.  No  guests  ever  come 
from  Rome  and  pass  into  the  palace  with  festal  welcome  to  visit  the 
Marquis  di  Sangrido.  Those  heavily-framed,  gloomy  windows  never 
flash  with  the  brilliancy  of  revels  within.  They  are  like  dead 
lights  —  like  the  staring  eyes  of  a  corpse. 

When  the  summer-storms  burst  among  the  hills,  and  the  gleam 
ing  lightning  and  rattling  thunders  appal  the  superstitious  peasants, 
while  the  church-bell  rings  solemnly  in  the  storm,  and  kneeling,  with 
muttered  prayers,  the  poor  people  of  Rieti  shudder  and  make  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  the  yellow  palace  of  the  Marquis  di  Sangrido 
stands  sullen  in  the  tempest,  sardonic  with  a  sickly  glare,  against 
the  heavy  black  cloud  that  rises  behind  it. 

On  the  holy  feast-days,  when  the  sun  lies  lazily  in  the  great 
square  of  Rieti  all  the  long  Italian  morning,  and  the  peasants,  in  gay 


330  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

costume,  dance  the  Tarantella  and  the  Saltarella,  and  with  music  and 
flowers  go  into  the  church  to  hang  votive  pictures  to  the  Madonna, 
one  suspending  the  shoe  which  he  wore  when  Our  Blessed  Lady  saved 
him  from  drowning ;  and  another,  the  cap  of  the  child  whom  the 
Holy  Virgin  raised  from  sickness ;  and  another,  the  necklace  which 
her  lover  gave  her  when  he  went  to  the  wars,  from  which  he  returned 
safely ;  the  Marquis  di  Sangrido  does  not  come,  nor  look  out  of 
those  gloomy  windows,  nor  send  wine  and  money.  But  often  in  the 
midst  of  the  festival  a  fear  falls  upon  the  peasants,  like  a  cloud- 
shadow  upon  a  waving,  glittering  rye-field  ;  they  look  furtively  at  the 
sullen  yellow  palace,  which  watches  them  in  malicious  silence ;  a 
sudden  horror  seizes  them  all,  as  if  they  expected  the  great  gates  to 
swing  open,  creaking  upon  rusty  hinges,  and  a  black  procession  of 
death  and  despair  to  issue  forth  and  chill  the  summer  day. 

It  is  in  vain  that  the  servants  of  the  Marquis  di  Sangrido  en 
deavor  to  be  friendly  and  sociable  with  the  people  of  Rieti.  They 
are  regarded  as  parts  of  that  gloom  and  mystery  which  envelop  the 
palace  and  its  master.  Their  most  cheerful  smile  is  suspected  ;  their 
jokes  make  the  people  shudder,  for  they  believe  them  to  be  magic 
spells  in  grinning  masks.  They  move  in  a  circle  of  solitude,  for 
every  inhabitant  of  the  town  instinctively  withdraws,  until  the  ser 
vants,  too,  gradually  grow  sardonic  and  gloomy ;  and  when  they 
appear  it  is  as  if  the  yellow  old  palace  were  taking  a  walk,  and 
sullenly  cursing  the  little  cowering  town  of  Rieti,  that  hides  upon  the 
plain  beyond  the  Campagna. 

Twice  a  year  the  great  gate  of  the  palace  opens.  Then  the  people 
shrink  into  their  houses  and  peer  through  the  windows  and  doors ; 
for  the  heavy  lumbering  state-carriage  of  the  Marquis  di  Sangrido 
rolls  clumsily  out,  with  a  flaring  chasseur  riding  before,  and  a  dozen 
servants  on  horseback  grouped  behind  and  around  like  a  body-guard. 
The  doors  are  closed  ;  the  blinds  are  drawn  up ;  nothing  is  seen  within 
the  carriage;  but  the  people  of  Rieti  know  that  the  Marquis  is 
sitting  there,  alone,  in  the  shadow  ;  and  their  terrified  and  bewitched 
imaginations  enter  and  sit  beside  him,  and  try  to  see  the  expression 
of  that  face,  and  to  conceive  the  grimness  of  his  smile,  and  the 
demoniacal  horror  of  his  frown.  But  not  even  their  imaginations  can 


THE    SHROUDED    PORTRAIT.  331 

figure  him.  The  Marquis  di  Sangrido  sits  inscrutable,  wrapped  in  a 
cloud,  and  the  lumbering  state-carriage  thunders  out  of  the  staring, 
wondering  town,  and  rolls  across  the  Campagna  toward  Rome,  where 
the  Marquis  has  another  palace.  Rieti  is  then  very  cheerful,  for  the 
Marquis  di  Sangrido  has  gone  to  Rome. 

Once  again  during  the  year  the  grim  gates  open,  and  the  heavy 
carriage,  and  the  little  group  of  servants,  and  the  flaring  chasseur 
leading  the  way,  are  absorbed  within  the  mysterious  yellow  walls ; 
and  the  little  town  of  Rieti  is  chilled  and  trembles  because  the  Mar 
quis  di  Sangrido  has  returned  from  Rome. 

It  was  a  pleasant  summer-day  when  I  came  to  Rieti,  and  after 
eating  the  frittata  and  prosdutto  crudo  at  the  albergo,  I  looked  idV 
out  of  the  window  into  the  great  square  of  the  town.  The  sun 
blazed  upon  the  open  place,  and  there  was  perfect  silence  in  the  air. 
My  eyes  were  dazzled,  as  I  gazed,  by  the  yellow  wall  of  the  palace  ; 
and  1  called  the  landlord  and  asked  the  name  of  the  owner. 

"  The  Marquis  di  Sangrido,"  replied  the  padrone,  with  a  shudder. 

"  Is  he  here  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  Excellency,  rib,"  returned  the  host  as  he  moved  away. 

"  But  tell  me,  can  I  get  into  the  house  ?  there  may  be  pictures  — 
or  into  the  grounds  ?" 

"  Excellency,  GOD  forgive  us  our  sins  !  I  know  nothing,"  answered 
the  padrone,  with  such  undisguised  fear  that  I  pressed  him  no  farther, 
and  he  withdrew. 

Of  course  I  sauntered  out  immediately  toward  the  Sangrido 
palace.  I  was  sure  that  I  had  struck  the  trail  of  a  romance ;  for 
what  are  anguish,  doubts,  despairs,  years  of  life  lost  in  misery,  all  the 
acutest  forms  of  human  woe,  but  romances  to  the  traveller  who 
saunters  out  on  warm  summer  mornings,  when  they  are  the  tears  and 
the  woes  of  other  people  and  other  years  ? 

I  paused  before  the  great  gate,  sheltered  from  the  sun  by  the 
shade  of  the  heavily-projecting  mouldings,  and  almost  feared  to  rattle 
with  my  stick  upon  the  massive  panels.  After  a  few  moments  the 
slide  was  slipped,  and  a  curious  restless  glance  danced  over  my  face 
and  figure,  while  a  sharp  low  female  voice  inquired  my  business.  I 
answered  that  I  was  a  stranger  passing  through  Rieti,  and  wished  to 


332  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

see  the  pictures  in  the  palace,  and  also  the  garden,  if  it  were  pos 
sible. 

After  some  sharp  questioning,  which  I  answered  very  simply  and 
directly,  the  gate  was  opened,  and  I  entered  the  court.  The  garden 
rose  behind  the  palace  in  broad  terraces  upon  the  hill-side,  and  I  went 
directly  toward  it.  The  custode,  who  told  me  she  was  the  only  ser 
vant  left  in  the  house,  the  Marquis  being  in  Rome,  disappeared,  and  I 
passed  up  the  broken,  crumbling  steps  of  the  terrace  in  entire  solitude. 

The  garden  was  fallen  into  decay.  Weeds  grew  and  glittered 
in  the  walks.  The  long,  narrow  avenues  of  cypress  and  ilex 
were  not  smooth  and  clipped,  but  untrimmed  boughs  and  shoots 
leaned  out  beyond  the  line  and  towered  in  slim,  swaying  twigs 
above.  In  the  misshapen  niches  of  this  green  wall  stood  broken 
statues  of  discolored  marble ;  fauns  holding  to  their  mouths  hands 
whence  the  pipes  had  fallen ;  and  nymphs  who  held  vases  and  flowers 
no  longer.  In  carrefours,  where  the  paths  crossed,  were  huge  globular 
vases,  broken  and  stained,  but  overflowing  with  the  leathery  leaves 
of  the  aloe,  like  jagged  green  flame  flaring  and  falling.  The  great 
plants  burst  out  luxuriantly  from  the  crevices  of  the  walls,  and  lay 
sprawled  over  them,  lazily  sucking  the  sun,  while  the  lizards  darted 
among  them,  half-loathsome  miniatures  of  crocodiles ;  and  high  over 
all,  the  dome-topped  stone-pines  lay  like  heavy  bars  of  cloud  in  the 
glittering  air.  In  the  universal  sunshine  and  ruin,  there  were  only 
silence,  sadness,  and  decay. 

I  passed  along,  perplexed  with  a  strange  and  nameless  sorrow, 
and  sat  down  upon  the  crumbling  stone  margin  of  a  fountain,  long 
since  dry,  and  in  whose  basin  lay  pebbles  and  twigs.  A  reverie  in  a 
decayed  garden  naturally  decks  the  trees  again  with  the  splendor  of 
long- vanished  summers,  trims  them  as  they  had  once  been  trimmed, 
and  throngs  the  paths  and  the  arbors  with  that  host  of  the  young 
and  beautiful  which  the  imagination  accords  to  all  gardens,  and 
palaces,  and  happy  haunts.  But  as  I  sat  and  dreamed,  I  felt  my 
self  seized  with  the  spell  of  mysterious  horror  which  I  had  perceived 
in  the  padrone  at  the  inn,  and  saying  with  him,  "  GOD  forgive  us  all 
our  sins !"  I  arose  and  strolled  along  the  melancholy  avenues,  and 
descending  the  terraces,  entered  the  house. 


THE    SHROUDED    PORTRAIT.  333 

I  saw  no  custode.  The  old  woman,  I  fancied,  sure  that  I  was  no 
thief,  did  not  intend  to  disturb  her  siesta  to  look  farther  after  me. 
So  I  walked  slowly  on,  and  passing  up  the  grand  stone-staircase  in 
the  cold  hall,  I  entered  the  suite  of  state  apartments.  They  were 
lofty  and  spacious.  The  ceilings  were  painted  in  fresco,  and  there 
was  an  unnatural  freshness  in  the  color,  as  if  it  was  not  the  work  of 
many  years  before.  The  windows  were  heavily  and  richly  draped. 
The  furniture  was  stately  and  costly,  and  the  walls  were  tapestried. 
There  was  an  oppressive  air  of  cold  regal  magnificence  in  each 
apartment.  There  was  nothing  domestic ;  no  pleasant  disorder ;  no 
gentle  confusion,  as  if  children  had  just  fled  from  the  rooms  ;  nothing 
that  indicated  a  home ;  every  thing  that  bespoke  a  ceremonial  palace. 
Some  of  the  walls  were  not  tapestried,  and  upon  them  hung  pic 
tures  —  mainly  portraits  —  soldiers  in  uniforms,  and  noblemen  in 
robes,  or  dignified  Italian  ladies  in  the  stiff  fashions  of  dead  centuries. 
At  length  I  reached  the  state  bed-chamber.  In  the  centre  of  the 
room  stood  the  bed,  ascended  by  steps,  and  muffled  in  thick  cluster 
ing  draperies,  covered  with  the  crest  of  Sangrido.  There  was  an 
oratory  adjoining,  with  a  massive  silver  crucifix  and  a  carved  prie- 
dieu.  But  my  eyes  clung  with  a  painful  curiosity  to  the  solemnly- 
draped  bed.  The  curtains  were  black,  and  folded  over  it  like  a  heavy 
cloud ;  and  as  I  gazed,  the  whole  seemed  to  me  to  form  a  funeral 
catafalque.  Through  the  thick  glass  of  the  windows,  rimed  with  the 
gathered  dust  of  years,  and  through  the  plain  white  muslin  curtains 
that  hung  over  them  like  shrouds,  the  light  came  sickly  and  thin,  and 
the  funeral  drapery  apparently  thickened  the  air  of  the  room.  In 
stinctively  I  stepped  to  the  window,  but  I  could  not  open  it,  and  it 
was  so  coated  with  obscurity  that  I  could  not  look  down  into  the 
sunny  square.  I  listened  for  a  sound,  but  there  was  nothing  to  hear. 
My  own  respiration  was  as  audible  as  at  midnight,  and  I  turned  back 
into  the  solemn  chamber.  Almost  involuntarily,  and  as  if  drawn  by 
an  irresistible  fascination,  I  climbed  the  steps  that  ascended  to  the 
bed,  and  laying  hold  of  the  heavy  black  curtains,  pulled  them  aside 
and  looked  within  them.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  a  bed 
fairly  made ;  the  linen  yellow,  as  with  time.  But  as  I  looked  up  I 
saw  something  black  hanging  from  the  ring  in  the  ceiling  which  held 


334  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

the  drapery,  so  that  the  curtains  made  a  funeral  tabernacle  for  it.  It 
was  beyond  my  reach,  but  I  could  see  that  it  was  a  frame  shrouded 
in  a  black  bag.  It  was  evidently  a  picture :  it  must  be  a  portrait. 
Why  shrouded  in  black  ?  Why  there  ? 

As  I  stood  upon  the  steps,  still  holding  back  the  curtains,  still 
staring  upward  and  wondering,  I  felt  my  foot  forcibly  seized,  and 
looking  down,  saw  a  shrivelled,  bony  hand  grasping  it.  It  was  the 
hand  of  the  old  custode,  whose  withered  face,  white  and  terrified,  was 
turned  beseechingly  toward  me.  The  forefinger  of  one  hand  was 
pressed  over  the  mouth  in  sign  of  silence,  while  the  other  grasped 
my  foot.  I  descended  the  steps,  and  the  old  woman  seized  both  my 
hands  with  frenzied  earnestness,  and  glared  into  my  eyes,  while  her 
frame  trembled,  and  upon  her  wan  lips  quivered  the  words : 

"  For  the  love  of  GOD,  signor !     For  the  love  of  GOD,  signor  !" 

I  waited  patiently  for  her  to  speak,  which  she  did  at  length,  in  a 
low,  hurried,  and  appalled  tone,  begging  me  to  leave  the  palace  upon 
the  moment,  and  if  I  had  the  slightest  regard  for  the  life  of  a  miser 
able  sinner,  never  to  betray  that  I  had  penetrated  so  far  as  to  see  the 
bed  and  the  shrouded  portrait. 

"  I  fell  asleep,  signor,  and  did  not  hear  you  when  you  came  in 
from  the  garden.  0  Dio  !  0  Dio  /" 

I  left  the  yellow  palace,  and  left  Rieti,  but  not  until  I  had  learned 
the  secret  of  that  picture. 

Ten  years  before,  the  Marquis  di  Sangrido  concluded  to  marry. 
He  was  then  sixty  years  old,  a  man  of  high  family,  of  large  fortune, 
of  good  person.  He  ordered  the  state  carriage  and  drove  to  Rome. 
He  was  known  everywhere,  and  was  especially  intimate  with  the 
Countess  Ondella,  who  was  the  guardian  of  her  orphan  niece,  Mad- 
dalena.  The  girl  had  grown  up  in  a  Venetian  convent.  She  had 
seen  no  man  but  Padre  Giuseppe,  who  wore  long  clothes  like  the 
women,  and  droned  all  the  morning,  and  dozed  all  the  afternoon,  and 
did  not  seem  to  be  a  man.  To  him  she  confessed  regularly  every 
week.  The  old  man  usually  went  to  sleep  before  the  tale  was  over, 
for  there  were  no  very  startling  sins  to  confess,  but  occasionally 
strange  thoughts  and  emotions,  which  Maddalena  did  not  understand, 
nor  the  good  Giuseppe  either.  On  the  whole,  it  was  pleasant  childish 


THE  SHROUDED  PORTRAIT.  335 

tattle,  which  soothed  him  to  sleep,  in  which  he  dreamed  of  other 
times  and  other  children,  among  whom  was  one  child  early  habited 
in  a  solemn  separate  robe  and  divorced  from  life.  In  the  face  of  that 
dream-child  Padre  Giuseppe  seemed  to  see  his  own  features,  but  deli 
cate  and  youthful,  without  wrinkles  and  snuff-stains.  And  so  the 
placid  confessor  dreamed  until  dinner-time,  and  feared,  as  he  arose 
and  found  that  he  must  wipe  the  moisture  from  his  eyes,  that  he  was 
getting  old  and  rheumy. 

Maddalena  was  taught  the  duty  of  all  good  children  —  to  confess 
and  pray,  and  guard  her  mind  from  thoughts  of  men ;  never  to  tell 
lies,  and  always  to  obey  her  elders.  She  listened  and  learned.  In 
the  silent  old  convent-garden  she  read  and  mused,  and  vague  hopes 
and  yearnings  fluttered  sometimes  across  her  mind  as  she  saw  birds 
floating  in  the  sky,  or  bright  leaves  whirling  and  whirling,  and  then 
dropping,  dropping,  until  they  were  lost  upon  the  ground.  Sixteen 
eventless  years  thus  passed,  and  Maddalena  Ondella  was  a  woman. 

One  day,  after  having  confessed  to  Padre  Giuseppe,  she  went  into 
the  garden  at  sunset,  and  sat  upon  a  pedestal  whence  a  statue  had 
long  ago  fallen.  The  vesper  bell  had  ceased  ringing ;  there  was  no 
wind  to  stir  the  leaves,  and  the  darkening  twilight  touched  her  beauty 
with  more  exquisite  grace  as  she  sat  motionless,  gazing  at  the  West, 
longing  and  hoping,  with  all  the  passionate  possibilities  of  life  glim 
mering  in  her  luscious  lips.  That  moment  she  was  summoned  by 
the  superior,  and  informed  that  she  was  to  go  to  Rome  immediately. 

"  Thank  the  Holy  Virgin,  Maddalena,"  said  the  abbess,  "  that  you 
are  to  be  married  to  a  noble  and  worthy  man.  In  all  things,  my 
child,  remember  our  instructions,  and  obey  your  husband." 

Padre  Guiseppe's  soft  soul  was  touched.  He  shed  tears  as  Mad 
dalena  bade  him  farewell.  The  good  Padre  did  not  know  how 
beautiful  she  was,  but  the  Marquis  di  Sangrido  had  accompanied  the 
Countess  Ondella  to  Venice,  three  years  before,  and  had  then  seen 
her  niece.  Three  years  being  past,  he  considered  that  he  was  sixty, 
and  concluded  to  marry.  He  came  to  Rome  in  the  state-carriage, 
and  proposed  to  the  Countess  for  Maddalena. 

The  aunt  apprised  the  niece,  and  the  day  for  the  nuptials  was 
appointed.  The  Marquis  di  Sangrido  had  returned  to  his  country- 


336  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

palace  at  Rieti  after  his  proposals  were  accepted,  and  carried  with 
him  workmen  to  decorate  his  house.  Rieti  was  gay  in  the  prospect 
of  a  bride  who  would  bring  youth,  beauty,  and  society  to  cheer  its 
loneliness.  No  one  was  permitted  to  see  the  work  going  on  in  the 
yellow  palace,  but  it  did  not  lose  in  splendor  by  the  eager  gossip  of 
the  town.  One  morning  the  workmen  did  not  come.  The  work  was 
finished.  The  next  morning  the  old  state-carriage,  newly  burnished, 
and  drawn  by  the  old  horses  in  new  and  glittering  harness,  passed 
out  of  the  gates.  The  servants  wore  bridal-favors.  The  blinds  were 
drawn  down,  and  the  hard  face  of  the  Marquis  di  Sangrido  returned 
the  gratulations  of  the  town. 

A  few  days  afterward  a  courier  came  dashing  into  Rieti,  and  dis 
appeared  in  the  palazzo  Sangrido.  It  was  rumored  that  the  bride 
would  arrive  before  night,  and  at  sunset  the  bridal  cortege  appeared. 
A  face  more  radiantly  beautiful  than  they  had  ever  seen  beamed 
gratitude  upon  the  peasants,  who  threw  flowers  before  the  bride's 
carriage,  and  the  Marchioness  Maddalena  di  Sangrido  went  into  her 
palace.  There  were  money  and  wine  distributed  in  the  square  of 
Rieti  that  night,  and  prayers  were  uttered  for  the  bride  in  the  church 
next  morning  by  those  she  never  saw. 

From  an  old  convent  in  Venice  to  an  old  palace  in  Rieti  the 
change  was  not  great.  But  the  change  was  entire  in  all  the  habits  of 
life ;  and  sometimes,  when  Maddalena  stole  away  to  a  lonely  corner 
of  the  garden,  which  had  been  trimmed  and  beautified  in  her  honor, 
she  looked  wistfully  at  the  long  range  of  hills  undulating  into  the  blue 
distance ;  and,  longing  for  a  richer  experience,  shuddered  as  she 
reflected  that,  while  dreaming  in  the  convent-garden,  everything  was 
possible ;  but  that,  sitting  in  the  garden  of  the  palace,  her  future  was 
an  endless  iteration  of  the  present.  She  grew  sad  and  silent  in  the 
rural  splendors  of  Rieti. 

The  Marquis  di  Sangrido  watched  his  wife  with  an  intentness  that 
seemed  ferocity.  If  she  went  alone  into  the  garden  he  presently 
appeared,  and  taking  her  arm  led  her  back  to  the  house,  or  paced 
solemnly  and  silently  at  her  side,  along  the  stately  green  avenues. 

He  was  of  high  family,  and  great  fortune,  and  of  good  person. 
The  girls  at  the  convent  in  Venice  sauntered  in  the  sunny  garden,  and 


THE    SHROUDED    PORTRAIT.  337 

talked,  by  stealth,  of  the  happy  Maddalena,  and  envied  her  splendid 
fortune  and  career.  Maddalena,  in  the  sunny  garden  of  Rieti,  longed 
for  Venice,  for  companions,  for  life,  for  any  thing.  She  grew  pale, 
like  a  flower  in  the  dark. 

The  time  came  to  go  to  Rome.  Before  ordering  the  carriage  the 
Marquis  di  Sangrido  warned  the  Marchioness  of  the  dangers  of 
society,  and  the  duties  of  wives.  Her  eyes  flashed  alternate  scorn 
and  longing  as  he  spoke,  and  with  a  heart  yearning  and  bursting,  she 
leaped  into  the  carriage,  while  her  brain  swam  with  the  sudden  and 
gorgeous  hope  of  a  new  life.  They  reached  Rome,  and  took  posses 
sion  of  the  palace.  Fete  followed  fete.  Everywhere  Maddalena 
was  the  idol  of  admiration.  The  elastic  Italian  tongue  was  compelled 
into  new  forms  of  compliment ;  and  she,  like  a  thirst-stricken  victim, 
plunged  into  the  stream  of  life  and  madly  revelled.  She  tasted  new 
and  wild  experience,  and  quaffed  it  fiercely  like  burning  wine.  She 
had  scarcely  reached  Rome  when  she  saw  Giulio.  Their  eyes  met, 
then  their  hands.  A  week  had  not  passed  before  they  were  ardent 
lovers.  The  whole  restrained  passion  of  her  nature  rose  at  once  to 
flood-tide.  The  arrears  of  years  were  paid  in  moments.  There  was 
imperial  splendor  in  her  beauty.  At  home,  at  church,  at  the  opera, 
upon  the  promenade,  she  was  radiant,  and  wherever  she  was,  Giulio 
was  by  her  side  and  in  her  heart.  She  did  not  try  to  disguise  it. 
The  dames  of  high  society  thought  her  audacious,  shook  their  fans, 
and  recommended  prudence.  Maddalena  scoffed  at  their  suggestions, 
laughed  prudence  to  scorn,  and  gloried  in  the  tumult  of  her  new  life. 

Before  the  shrewdest  dame  had  even  suspected,  however,  the  Mar 
quis  di  Sangrido  was  sure.  His  eye  grew  like  a  serpent's  eye,  and 
women  shuddered  as  its  livid  glare  fell  upon  them.  His  movements 
became  sinuous  and  stealthy.  Like  a  reptile,  he  chilled  the  sunshine 
as  he  slipped  along  the  street  to  the  Casino  or  the  Cafe.  To  see  him 
was  like  being  smitten  with  disease.  At  the  opera,  in  church,  upon  the 
promenade,  he  watched  the  young  Giulio  with  his  wife.  Flowers 
were  not  fair  enough,  nor  the  sun  bright  enough,  nor  the  day  long 
enough  for  them. 

The  Marquis  di  Sangrido  came  home  quietly  one  day  an  hour 

before  the  time  he  had  mentioned.     He  entered  softly,  and  glided 

22 


338  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

through  the  apartments,  with  spectral  stillness,  toward  his  wife's 
room.  His  hard,  cold  face  had  a  glacial  intensity  that  froze  with 
horror  the  valet  who  saw  him  pass.  Reaching  the  door  of  his  wife's 
room,  he  entered  without  knocking. 

The  Marchioness  was  not  at  the  opera  in  the  evening,  nor  at  the 
ball  afterward,  nor  was  she  seen  during  the  next  day.  The  Marquis 
and  Marchioness  di  Sangrido  had  returned  to  Kieti.  As  the  carriage 
thundered  into  the  town,  the  blinds  were  closed ;  there  was  no  beam 
ing  bridal  face  at  the  window  ;  there  were  hurry  and  stern  command, 
and  the  great  gate  closed  behind  the  carriage  in  sullen  gloom. 

In  was  a  solemn  and  melancholy  supper  that  the  Marquis  and  his 
wife  eat  that  night.  From  his  cold,  hard  face  the  snake  had  vanished, 
but  its  frigid  ferocity  was  more  terrible ;  and  the  pale  marble  rigidity 
of  his  wife  was  sadder  to  see.  She  rose  from  the  table  and  passed 
alone  through  the  vast,  cold,  silent  apartments  toward  her  chamber. 
Her  heart  wras  stony  with  the  fixed  resolve  not  to  be  baulked  of  life, 
and  love,  and  happiness,  but  at  some  time,  by  some  means,  to  escape 
the  imprisonment  of  that  palace,  and  dare  the  worst  for  Giulio. 
She  reached  her  room  and  dismissed  her  maid,  who  withdrew,  leaving 
her  alone.  Through  the  lofty  windows  the  full  moonlight  streamed, 
and  flooded  that  young  beautiful  woman  who  stood  with  her  hands 
clasped  before  her,  and  her  head  leaning  against  the  window-frame. 
She  was  entirely  abandoned  to  the  glowing  remembrance  of  the  last 
few  weeks.  One  image,  one  memory,  one  hope,  one  thought,  pos 
sessed  her.  She  was  a  child  in  knowledge  and  in  power,  but  a 
woman  in  passionate  emotion.  Like  a  stormy  sea  ebbing  and  flowing 
fiercely  in  a  cavern,  her  feelings,  and  wishes,  and  vows,  fluctuated 
through  her  mind,  and  she  stood  confounded  by  the  greatness  and 
glory  of  the  passion  that  agitated  her  whole  being.  She  was  its 
slave,  but  knew  not  how  to  obey  it.  The  night  waned,  and  she  stood 
musing,  her  hands  still  clasped,  her  head  leaning,  when  suddenly  she 
heard  a  chorus  of  late  revellers,  artists  returning  from  a  festa : 

"  Ah !  senza  amare, 
Andare  sul  mare, 
Col  sposo  del  mare, 
Non  puo  consolare!" 


THE    SHROUDED    PORTRAIT. 

The  song  was  very  distant  and  passed  slowly  out  of  hearing.  Yet 
it  lingered  and  lingered.  It  haunted  the  moonlight;  beseeching, 
yearning,  wailing ;  a  whole  history  singing  and  sighing  in  its  mea 
sures  ;  a  whole  history,  at  least,  when  a  heart  listened  in  which  all 
passionate  powers  thrilled  and  throbbed  in  answer. 

Maddalena  turned  from  her  window,  and  walked  slowly  up  and 
down  the  chamber.  She  paused  and  loosened  her  dress.  It  fell  away 
from  her  like  a  cloud,  and  around  her  in  the  dark  of  the  chamber,  the 
dim  outline  of  the  furniture  was  not  more  still  than  the  statuesque 
repose  of  her  form.  A  faint,  heavy  odor  from  a  vase  of  flowers  filled 
the  room.  She  moved  slowly  away,  and  slowly  seated  herself  upon 
the  edge  of  the  bed,  resting  her  head  upon  her  hand,  and  murmuring 
almost  inaudibly,  as  if  dreaming : 

"  Ah !  senza  amare !" 

The  Marquis  di  Sangrido  waited  until  he  supposed  that  his  wife 
had  reached  her  chamber.  Then  he  passed  quietly  through  another 
door  to  a  farther  part  of  the  palace,  and  entering  a  room  which  he 
unlocked  with  a  key  that  he  took  from  his  pocket,  he  closed  and 
locked  it  carefully  behind  him ;  then  opening  the  small  door  of  a  cup 
board  in  the  wall,  he  took  from  a  shelf  a  large  glass  jar,  full  of  a 
green  liquor,  which  he  carefully  examined ;  then  closed  and  locked 
the  cupboard-door,  and  left  the  room.  When  he  reached  the  dining- 
hall,  he  summoned  his  valet,  and  ordered  him  to  assemble  all  the 
servants,  who  instantly  came  thronging  in.  After  looking  at  them 
sternly  for  a  few  moments,  the  Marquis  said : 

"  I  wish  you  all  to  return  to  Rome  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morn 
ing.  I  shall  follow  you  two  days  hence.  Vincenzo,"  he  said  to  his 
valet,  "  you  will  remain." 

As  the  servants  were  leaving  the  room,  he  said  to  them  with  a 
kind  of  hiss, 

"  If  any  man  remains  behind  after  to-morrow  morning,  he  will 
never  see  Rome  again." 

And  with  a  shudder  of  fear  the  servants  withdrew. 

By  dawn  the  next  morning,  they  had  all  left  the  palazzo,  and  at 


340  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

sunrise  were  crossing  the  Campagna  toward  Home.  As  the  Marquis 
was  finishing  his  breakfast,  he  ordered  his  valet  to  tell  the  maid  of  the 
Marchioness  that  he  wished  to  know  when  her  mistress  was  awake. 
As  he  arose  from  table,  he  gave  the  valet  a  letter  for  the  Countess 
Ondella,  sealed  with  black,  which  he  charged  him  to  deliver  as  soon 
as  possible,  and  to  make  no  delay  in  mounting  and  taking  the  road  to 
Rome.  The  valet  bowed,  took  the  letter,  and  in  ten  minutes  was  gal 
loping  out  of  the  town. 

A  little  before  noon,  the  maid  appeared  to  say  that  her  mistress 
was  awake.  The  Marquis  bade  her  remain  for  a  moment.  He  went 
toward  his  wife's  room,  but  immediately  returning,  told  the  maid 
that  her  mistress  preferred  to  dress  alone,  and  wished  her  to  go  with 
the  custode  to  visit  her  sick  child  among  the  mountains. 

"  Stop  and  ask  Padre  Luigi  to  come  instantly  to  the  palace,''  said 
he,  "  and  return  by  evening,  but  not  before,  or  you  will  take  the  fever 
in  the  sun." 

The  maid  and  the  old  custode  instantly  departed.  The  sugges 
tions  of  the  Marquis  di  Sangrido  were  the  sternest  commands  to  his 
dependents. 

He  sat  quietly  for  some  time,  until  he  heard  a  tap  at  the  gate, 
and,  descending,  he  opened  to  the  Padre  Luigi.  The  priest  muttered 
a  blessing  as  he  entered,  and  followed  the  Marquis  up  the  staircase. 
They  advanced  together  through  the  rooms  until  they  reached  the 
chamber  of  the  Marchioness.  The  priest  paused  a  moment  while  the 
Marquis  passed  in. 

"  Maddalena,"  said  he  to  his  wife,  who  was  kneeling  at  her  Prie- 
Dieu,  "  Padre  Luigi  is  here  to  receive  your  confession." 

"  I  have  none  to  make,"  returned  she  in  a  whisper,  as  a  deathly 
pallor  settled  upon  her  cheek. 

The  Marquis  did  not  respond,  but,  opening  the  door,  he  beckoned 
to  the  priest,  who  entered,  and  the  Marquis  retired. 

"Why  are  you  here1?"  demanded  Maddalena,  suddenly  spring 
ing  up. 

"  Signora,  to  hear  your  confession,"  replied  the  priest  quietly. 

"  Go !"  she  said  with  a  startled  horror  in  her  eyes,  and  pointing 
toward  the  door. 


THE    SHROUDED    PORTRAIT.  341 

In  vain  the  priest  expostulated  and  besought  her  to  confide  to  him 
the  grief  that  weighed  upon  her  conscience,  and  to  receive  his  conso 
lation.  She  said  nothing  but  "  Go !"  and  waved  him  away. 

Padre  Luigi  passed  out  of  the  chamber.  The  Marquis  waited  in 
the  adjoining  room,  and,  without  speaking,  led  the  way  toward  the 
grand  staircase.  Still  without  speaking,  they  descended.  The  host 
opened  the  gate ;  the  priest  murmured  a  benedicite,  and  departed. 
Then  the  Marquis  fastened  the  bolts  and  bars,  locked  the  world  out 
from  himself  and  his  wife,  and  slowly  ascended  the  staircase.  He 
went  to  the  secret  cupboard,  where  he  had  seen,  on  the  previous  even 
ing,  that  the  jar  full  of  a  green  liquid  was  safe,  and  taking  it  in  his 
hands,  glided  through  the  vast,  silent  rooms  as  spectrally  still  as 
when  in  Rome  he  had  entered  his  wife's  chamber  suddenly. 

The  Marchioness  Maddalena  was  still  kneeling  at  her  Prieu-Dieu. 

"  You  have,  made  your  peace  with  God  1"  demanded  the  Marquis, 
as  he  closed  the  door,  and  stood  before  her,  holding  the  jar. 

She  rose  slowly,  with  her  eyes  fastened  upon  his ;  and  tottering 
across  the  room,  fell  at  his  feet,  and  still  staring  in  his  face,  gasped  in 
a  piteous  whisper : 

"What  do  you  mean ?" 

He  did  not  reply ;  but  placing  the  jar  upon  the  ground,  he  raised 
his  wife  from  the  floor,  and  leading  her  toward  a  huge,  carved,  oaken 
chair,  he  placed  her  upon  it,  and  said  in  a  voice  cold  and  hard  as  his 
rigid  face : 

"  Maddalena,  you  must  die !" 

With  silken  cords  which  he  drew  from  his  pocket,  he  bound  her 
with  inconceivable  rapidity  and  firmness  to  the  chair.  She  moaned 
like  a  dying  child.  The  suddenness  and  hopelessness  of  her  fate 
crushed  her  at  once. 

Tapestries  and  curtains  hung  about  the  chamber,  and  the  summer 
light  streamed  golden  through  the  windows.  But  it  was  spectral  and 
dim  to  those  young  eyes.  Upon  the  cypress  terraces  of  the  garden 
fountains  were  plashing  in  the  sunshine,  and  in  the  deep  shade  of  the 
trees  cicadas  sang.  She  thought  of  them  all ;  she  knew  it  well ;  but 
not  a  sound  reached  her  ears. 

Her  whole  short  life  lay  clearly  before  her :  the  Venetian  garden, 


342  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

the  dream,  the  marriage,  the  blight,  the  new  hope,  the  love, 
Giulio. 

The  Marquis  raised  the  jar.  The  green  liquor  was  vitriol.  He 
stood  over  her,  behind,  where  he  did  not  see  her  face.  The  first  drop 
fell  upon  her  head. 

"  O  my  GOD  !"  she  said  slowly,  "  forgive  my  sins,  but  I  love  him 
with  my  whole  soul." 

In  startled  Rieti  there  was  constant  and  terrified  surmise  all  the 
day  after  the  return  of  the  Marquis  and  his  wife.  It  was  one  of  the 
breathless,  glaring  days  of  midsummer;  a  day  of  preternatural 
silence,  when  the  sultry  glare  is  a  spell  of  terror,  and  men  instinct 
ively  talk  in  whispers.  Not  a  wind  sighed ;  not  a  bird  sang.  Only 
at  intervals  a  solitary  cicada  stung  the  ear  with  its  dry,  sad  tone. 
There  was  no  dancing  at  the  Osteria ;  the  cattle  and  the  dogs  lay  list 
less  in  the  shade ;  and  as  the  awful  heats  deepened  to  noon,  the  inha 
bitants  were  stretched  in  the  shadow  of  the  houses  uneasily  dozing,  or, 
starting  suddenly  from  hot  sleep,  glanced  with  vague  apprehension 
about  the  sky,  as  if  a  fearful  tempest  were  gathering. 

Suddenly  a  sharp,  agonized,  muffled  scream  pierced  the  very  heart 
of  that  silence,  and  curdled  the  blood  in  the  veins  of  the  awe-stricken 
peasants.  They  stared  at  each  other  speechlessly,  sat  transfixed  as  if 
awaiting  another  sound ;  then,  after  long,  breathless  minutes,  turned 
their  pale  faces  and  whispered  stealthily  together  —  not  quite  sure  if 
that  shriek  were  earthly ;  but  muttering  Ave  Marias,  and  making  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  their  eyes  gradually  turned,  as  by  tacit  conviction, 
toward  the  grim  palazzo  Sangrido,  standing  sullen  in  the  sun. 

Vincenzo,  the  valet,  upon  his  arrival  in  Rome,  delivered  to  the 
Countess  Ondella  the  letter  of  the  Marquis  sealed  with  a  black  seal, 
and  informing  her  of  the  death  of  her  niece,  the  Marchioness  Madda- 
lena.  The  next  evening,  Padre  Luigi  and  his  brother  monks  cele 
brated  a  funeral  mass  in  the  little  church  of  Rieti. 

I  heard  this  history  after  I  had  left  the  little  town,  but  I  was  glad 
of  an  opportunity  of  returning  two  years  afterward.  I  found  the 
same  padrone  at  the  Osteria,  and  endeavored  to  learn  from  him  and 
from  the  peasants  something  farther  about  the  Marquis  di  Sangrido. 


THE    SHROUDED    PORTRAIT.  343 

He  was  an  old  man,  they  said  —  hideously  ugly.  They  believed, 
evidently,  that  he  had  horns  and  hoofs.  But  no  one  confessed  that  he 
had  ever  seen  him. 

The  day  after  my  arrival,  I  went  again  to  the  palazzo.  The  same 
old  woman  examined  and  admitted  me,  evidently  without  recognizing 
me  as  the  audacious  stranger  who  had  penetrated  to  the  black  and 
solemn  chamber.  She  told  me  that  I  could  not  go  into  the  palace, 
because  the  Marquis  was  living  there,  and  would  not  go  to  Rome  for 
several  weeks ;  but  I  had  her  permission  to  stroll  in  the  garden. 

It  was  even  more  ruinous  than  before.  Everywhere  reigned  the 
same  desolation  and  sadness  —  doubly  sad  and  desolate  now  that  I 
knew  the  story.  Yet  everywhere  in  Italy  you  feel  the  possibility  of 
such  tragedies.  Robert  Browning's  poem  of  "My  Last  Duchess" 
and  Beckford's  tale  of  the  old  woman  near  Naples  are  simple  studies 
from  life.  The  old  villas  and  gardens  crumbling  in  that  hot  southern 
sun  are  like  memorials  of  the  fierce  excesses  of  hot  southern  passion. 
Love,  hate,  enthusiasm,  revenge,  despair,  dark  eyes,  black  hair,  the 
stiletto,  ignorance  and  mystery,  ambition  and  superstition  —  these  are 
the  quick-glancing  threads  of  which  that  life  is  spun.  Venice  explains 
Venice.  The  Council  of  Ten,  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  the  Piombi,  Marino 
Faliero,  as  well  as  Titian  and  Don  Juan,  are  all  bred  of  that  silence, 
splendor,  and  isolation. 

Suddenly,  as  I  turned  into  a  neglected  ilex-path,  I  met  an  old  man. 
He  might  have  been  seventy  years  of  age ;  he  was  still  erect,  and 
long  white  hairs  clustered  around  his  cold,  hard  face.  He  paused 
courteously,  saluted  me  with  dignity,  and  bade  me  good  day.  Per 
ceiving  from  my  reply  that  I  was  a  foreigner,  he  stopped  and  fell  into 
conversation.  In  all  that  he  said  the  shrewd  observation  of  the  man 
of  the  world  was  evident.  He  was  familiar  with  the  current  gossip, 
spoke  of  society  in  Rome,  of  the  belles  and  the  beauties.  Passing  to 
pictures  and  the  subjects  that  most  interest  strangers,  he  showed  him 
self  a  judicious  critic  and  connoisseur.  Of  certain  pictures  he  spoke 
with  a  kind  of  cold  ardor  that  was  very  singular,  and  as  I  mentioned 
one  that  I  had  seen  in  the  palazzo  Mazzo  in  Rome,  he  discovered  that 
his  friend,  the  Cardinal  Mazzo,  was  also  a  friend  of  mine,  and  imme- 


344  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

diately  invited  me  to  dine  with  him  on  the  following  day ;  but  I 
hastily  declined  upon  plea  of  my  early  departure. 

After  a  little  more  conversation,  he  bowed  and  wished  me  good 
morning. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  my  pictures  are  all  in  Rome,"  said  he,  as  he 
turned  away.  "There  are  none  in  the  house  yonder,"  he  continued, 
pointing  toward  it  through  the  cypresses,  "  of  any  interest  to  those 
out  of  the  family." 

So  saying,  the  Marquis  di  Sangrido  disappeared  down  the  ter 
races. 

But  I  remained  in  the  solitary,  sunny  garden,  remembering  the 
black-shrouded  picture,  looking  along  the  paths  that  Maddalena  had 
paced.  The  tragedy  of  Maddalena  was  wringing  my  heart,  but  the 
sun  shone  bright,  the  nightingales  sang,  the  wind  blew  gently,  and  the 
courteous  tones  of  the  Marquis  were  ringing  in  my  ears. 

"  GOD  forgive  us  all  our  sins  !"  I  said  as  I  recalled  the  words  of 
the  padrone ;  and  I  passed  swiftly  and  for  ever  out  of  the  garden  and 
the  gate  of  the  Palazzo  Sangrido. 


(SiirL 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTTC1M 


BEAUTIFUL  girl !  I  have  wandered  far 
Toward  the  rising  sun  and  the  evening  star ; 
I  have  roamed  'mid  the  northern  wastes  of  snow, 
And  strayed  where  the  soft  magnolias  blow, 
But  I  never  gazed  on  a  face  so  bright 
As  thine,  sweet  spirit  of  young  delight 

Beautiful  girl !  thou  art  bright  and  fair 

As  an  angel  shape  in  the  moonlight  air; 

No  shadow  rests  on  thy  brow  of  snow, 

Save  that  of  thy  tresses  drooping  low. 

Love's  own  dear  light  is  wandering  oft 

O'er  thy  gentle  lip  of  carmine  soft. 

Thy  lovely  cheek,  where  the  rich,  red  glow 

Of  the  warm  blood  melts  through  the  virgin  snow, 

Is  sweetly  blending  in  one  bright  dye, 

The  woven  beauties  of  earth  and  sky. 

Truth,  holy  truth,  in  its  freshness  dwells 

Deep,  deep  in  thy  dark  eyes'  shaded  wells, 

And  fancies  wild  from  their  clear  depths  gleam, 

Like  shadows  of  stars  from  a  trembling  stream ; 

And  thy  thoughts  are  a  dream  of  Eden's  bowers, 

And  thy  words  are  garlands  of  flowers,  bright  flowers. 

Beautiful  girl  I  I  have  seen  thee  move, 
A  floating  creature  of  joy  and  love, 
As  light  as  a  mist  on  the  sunrise  gale, 
Or  the  buoyant  sway  of  a  bridal  vail, 


346  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Till  I  almost  looked  to  sec  thee  rise 

Like  a  soaring  thought  to  the  free  blue  skies, 

Or  melt  away  in  the  thin,  blue  air, 

Like  a  vision  of  fancy  painted  there. 

Thy  low  sweet  voice,  as  it  thrills  around, 

Seems  less  a  sound  than  a  dream  of  sound ; 

Softly  and  wildly  its  clear  notes  swell, 

Like  the  spirit-tones  of  a  silver  bell ; 

And  the  lips  whence  the  fairy  music  flows 

Is  to  Fancy's  eye  like  a  speaking  rose. 

Beautiful,  beautiful  girl!  thou  art 
A  vision  of  joy  to  the  throbbing  heart ; 
A  star  sent  down  from  the  world  of  bliss, 
And  all  undimmed  by  the  shades  of  this ; 
A  rainbow  pictured  by  LOVE'S  own  son 
On  the  clouds  of  being,  beautiful  one ! 

Beautiful  girl !  't  is  a  weary  year 
Since  thy  sweet  voice  fell  on  my  ravished  ear ; 
'T  is  a  long,  long  year  of  light  and  gloom 
Since  I  gazed  on  thy  young  cheeks'  lovely  bloom 
Yet  thy  gentle  tones  of  music  still 
Through  the  holiest  depths  of  memory  thrill 
Like  tones  of  a  fount,  or  breeze,  or  bird, 
In  the  long-gone  years  of  childhood  heard. 
And  oft  in  my  dark  and  lonely  moods, 
When  a  demon  wing  o'er  my  spirit  broods, 
Thine  imago  seems  on  my  soul  to  break 
Like  the  sweet  young  moon  o'er  a  gloomy  lake, 
Filling  its  depths,  as  the  shadows  flee, 
With  beauty  and  love  and  melody. 

Beautiful  girl !  thou  art  far  away, 

And  I  know  not  where  thy  steps  now  stray ; 

But  oh !  't  is  sweet,  it  is  very  sweet, 

In  the  fairy  realms  of  dreams  to  greet 

Thy  cheek  of  rose,  thy  brow  of  pearl, 

And  thy  voice  of  music,  beautiful  girl ! 


I 


f  ute  «f 


".Y      3.     M.      LEG  ARE. 


CORYDON  AND  TiiYRSis  no  longer  pipe  to  Phyllis,  and  Phyllis  goes 
no  more  about  with  a  wreath  on  her  crook.  This  we  all  know  — 
and  those  among  us  who  are  poets,  with  the  down  of  youth  upon  our 
cheeks,  remember  with  a  sigh  —  and  look  to  find  in  our  summer 
rambles  in  the  country,  not  shepherdesses  to  whom  we  may  pay  sen 
timental  court,  and  with  whom  breathe  air  redolent  of  thyme  and 
goat's-milk,  but  pensionnaires  from  Madame  Mere  de  Treubleu's 
famous  school,  and  scented  rather  too  lavishly,  as  country  belles  are 
apt  to  be,  with  the  last  fashionable  perfume  of  Mons.  Lubin's  labora 
tory.  Unless  one  travel  quite  beyond  the  circle  of  the  city's  influ 
ence,  into  the  purely  rustic  regions,  where  two-pronged  forks  at  table, 
and  sun-bonnets  still  hold  their  own,  but  where  Corydon  and  Phyllis, 
alas !  are  not  more  recognized,  it  is  vain  to  imagine  the  gauds  and 
vanities  of  the  metropolis  left  behind.  Haughty  Georgiana  of  last 
winter's  balls,  who,  forgetting  her  pedigree  —  old  McKrell  having 
begun  life  a  fishmonger  —  suffered  you  to  lead  her  to  the  floor  by  the 
tips  of  her  white  kids,  as  any  other  queen  might  a  subject,  finds  a 
parallel,  for  example,  in  the  persons  of  the  two  Misses  Snack,  co 
heiresses  of  the  little  fortune  accumulated  by  the  country-practice  of 
the  late  Dr.  Snack,  their  papa ;  both  tall,  both  dressy,  and  perfectly 
conscious  of  their  superior  attainments  and  momentary  position. 
They  differ,  it  is  true,  on  most  points,  but  are  united  in  this  —  that 
their  country  admirers,  the  most  constant  of  whom  are  Jenkins,  who 
wears  such  preposterous  collars,  and  is  a  clerk  down  the  street,  and 


348  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Stump,  the  short  attorney,  can  be  tolerated  only  so  long  as  there  are 
no  arrivals  from  the  city ;  precisely  as  Miss  Georgiana  gave  the 
cold  shoulder  to  your  pleasantries  and  bon  mots  the  very  evening  that 
young  ape,  Prunelle,  exhibited  his  waxed  moustache  and  French  graces 
within  her  circle.  In  like  manner,  chaperoning  Mrs.  Van  Waddle- 
vurst,  all  embonpoint,  turban,  and  pomp,  who  carries  that  bashful 
blonde,  her  niece,  to  every  Rout  and  At  Home,  under  her  wing,  as  it- 
were,  and  brings  it  about  that  every  young  fellow  of  ton  in  the  room 
shall  be  presented  to  her,  in  the  vain  hope  of  eclipsing  sparkling 
Celeste,  who  sways  all  hearts  this  season,  is  she  not  re-produced  in 
sanguine  Mrs.  Brown  —  slim  though  she  be,  and  with  her  hair  put  up 
in  a  rather  sparse  knot  on  the  summit  of  her  head,  and  the  same 
everlasting  smile  upon  her  face,  most  unlike  dowager  Van  Waddle- 
vurst's  fat  dignity  of  chin,  who  has  not  ceased  to  indulge  in  various 
secret  dreams  of  distinction,  founded  on  her  Amelia  Ann's  accom 
plishments,  ever  since  the  return  of  that  young  lady  from  finishing- 
school.  Mrs.  Brown,  indeed,  is  a  woman  of  more  energy  than  the 
dowager,  having  been  compelled,  for  many  years,  (since  Brown's 
demise,)  to  battle  for  herself;  but  she  drags  about  and  placards  the 
attractiveness  of  her  Amelia  Ann,  a  shame-faced  girl,  who  seldom 
answers  except  in  monosyllables,  with  much  the  same  good  taste  that 
Mrs.  Van  W.  does  her  Amelia. 

It  is  only  you,  O  sweet  Mary  Jones,  who  have  not  been  spoiled 
by  living  in  a  city.  It  is  only  you  who  go  about  singing  or  humming 
one  of  the  songs  you  learned  long  before  you  came  to  be  taught  those 
grand  symphonies  from  the  opera  of  the  Don,  which  the  Miss  Snacks 
performing  together  draw  a  chorus  of  bravas  from  the  throats  of 
moustached  visitors,  when  the  season  for  moustached  visitors  has 
arrived.  Yes,  it  is  certainly  you,  pretty,  lovable  Mary  Jones, 
swinging  your  cottage  bonnet  about  by  its  blue  ribbons,  and  glancing 
here  and  there  with  eyes  quite  as  blue,  and  a  great  deal  pleasanter  to 
behold,  even  were  a  man-milliner  the  arbiter,  who,  for  the  first  time, 
perceives  the  young  gentleman  seated  yonder  by  his  fish-basket  on 
the  bank,  who  has  been  looking  at  you  all  this  while  with  so  much 
attention,  not  to  say  pleasure,  that  a  perch  has  actually,  after  many 
delightful  bobs,  drawn  his  float  under  the  surface  and  become  en- 


THE    LOVES    OF    MARY    JONES.  349 

tangled  among  the  roots  and  weeds  at  the  bottom,  without  his  captor 
being  any  the  wiser  for  it. 

Miss  Mary  Jones  —  to  assume  a  past  tense,  for  these  events  have 
long  gone  by  —  halted  then  in  her  walk  and  in  the  song  she  was 
singing,  in  the  pleasantest  of  voices,  half  aloud,  and  a  little  natural 
color  came  up  into  her  face,  partly,  perhaps,  because  she  found  her 
self  an  object  of  attention,  when  she  imagined  the  trees  and  birds 
only  composed  her  audience ;  and  partly,  because  the  observation 
which  she  had  courted  seemed  unlikely  to  be  speedily  withdrawn. 
The  young  gentleman,  with  his  back  to  the  trunk  of  a  beech,  and  his 
eyes  diverted  from  their  proper  occupation  of  watching  his  float, 
seemed  to  relish  the  effect  of  his  curiosity,  it  must  be  admitted,  and 
surveyed  the  nymph  with  a  smile  which  would  have  appeared  imper 
tinent  but  for  a  challenge  at  recognition  in  it  when  his  glance  encoun 
tered  the  momentary  surprise  in  those  blue  orbs  of  sweet  Mary 
Jones.  It  did  not  please  the  nymph,  however,  to  accept  the  acquaint 
ance  so  proffered,  and  with  the  slightest  possible  moue  in  rejoinder, 
she  turned  into  a  path  branching  off  opportunely  from  that  by  which 
she  had  approached,  and  would  soon  have  left  the  scene  of  her  inter 
rupted  solitude,  and  perhaps  the  memory  of  it,  behind  her.  But  the 
first  comer  entertained  other  views,  it  seemed.  He  promptly  rose 
when  about  to  be  deserted,  and  finding  his  line  tangled,  as  shown 
above,  without  ado  snapped  it  in  twain.  Had  it  been  too  strong  for 
him,  he  would  have  thrown  the  rod  and  all  into  the  stream  rather 
than  be  baffled,  for  it  was  part  of  the  character  of  this  young  gentle 
man  to  take  the  shortest  means  at  hand  for  ridding  himself  of  the 
last  pleasure  in  anticipation  of  the  next  in  order.  This  done,  he  pre 
sented  himself  before  our  heroine,  who,  to  say  the  truth,  had  not 
advanced  far,  nor  seemed  in  much  haste  to  go.  She  had  stopped  to 
pull  a  wild  violet,  but  then  she  had  dropped  it  again ;  and  when  she 
stooped  to  recover  it,  Mr.  Clarence  Van  Trump,  who  was  the  angler, 
had  it  already  in  possession,  and  presently  protested  he  could  part 
with  it  on  no  terms,  and  would  set  it  in  water  when  he  got  home  ; 
though  I  believe  he  really  put  it  in  his  vest  pocket,  and  there  forgot 
it,  nor  beheld  it  again  for  many  months  after  all  the  events  in  this 
tale  had  transpired.  This  was  not  all  either;  Miss  Mary  Jones 


350  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

carried  her  bonnet  —  a  pretty  little  bonnet  with  blue  lining  and 
ribbons,  which  must  have  made  it  become  her  exceedingly  when  on  — 
slung  over  her  arm  for  the  occasion,  and  filled  with  flowers,  which 
last,  in  the  flutter  incidental  to  the  loss  of  the  violet,  were  liberally 
scattered  over  the  ground. 

Her  companion  gathered  them  again,  with  a  slight  laugh  :  "  Then 
you  really  have  forgotten  me  V  he  said,  while  so  employed.  "  I  who 
once  fished  and  hunted  for  your  especial  benefit,  and  have  never  been 
in  love  since !  Suppose  I  had  been  on  the  opposite  side  of  this  mill- 
race,  and  so  unable  to  reveal  myself,  and  you  had  gone  away  as  you 
were  doing  a  minute  ago  without  recognizing  me  ?  I  know  I  should 
have  fallen  into  a  state  of  low  melancholy.  Oh  !  by  Jove !  I  recol 
lect,"  the  young  gentleman  added,  rising  in  a  sudden  and  stroking  the 
ornament  in  question,  "  't  is  this  moustache  —  this  grisly  moustache 
which  makes  the  difference  —  and  come  now !  I  lay  an  even  wager  — 
this  violet  against  your  bonnet  of  flowers  —  that  who  the  present 
speaker  really  may  be  is  a  question  this  moment  in  your  —  a,  well  — 
lovely  head." 

The  lovely  head  was  shaken  half-pettishly,  half  in  denial.  "  I 
knew  you  very  well,  Mr.  Clarence,"  the  owner  of  it  said,  "  but  I  — " 

"  Well?"  said  Mr.  Clarence. 

"I  —  am  not  to  be  treated  like  a  school-girl." 

"  No  ?"  said  Clarence,  laughing. 

"  No.  And  as  for  your  moustache  disguising  you  " —  here  the 
blue  eyes  of  Miss  Jones  glanced  at  the  downy  indication  of  a  beard 
which  the  owner  thereof  had  termed  grisly,  and  whether  that  a  mous 
tache  is  always  fascinating  in  female  eyes,  or  that  it  was  not  in  the 
power  of  such  celestial  orbs  to  long  display  anger  toward  any  one, 
all  appearance  of  vexation  quickly  vanished,  and  her  companion  held 
out  his  hand,  from  which  he  had  drawn  his  glove.  Yes,  this  young 
Brummel  had  been  actually  angling  in  gloves,  the  identical  white 
kids  in  which,  perhaps,  he  had  handed  Miss  Georgiana  McKrell,  or 
the  lively  Mrs.  Tomtit  to  supper,  two  weeks  before,  at  Newport ! 

Indeed,  if  Miss  Mary  Jones  had  failed  to  remember  in  Mr. 
Clarence  Van  Trump  the  little  boy  in  corduroy  pantaloons  who  had 
been  her  assiduous  "  sweetheart"  once  upon  a  time  years  before, 


THE    LOVES    OF    MARY    JONES.  351 

when  he  had  come  down  to  spend  the  vacation  with  his  uncle,  the 
patroon,  and  slept  in  the  identical  bed-room,  with  the  chintz  curtains 
and  patchwork  quilt  of  faded  satins,  manufactured  by  the  fingers  of 
his  great  grandmother,  which  he  occupied  on  the  occasion  of  his  pre 
sent  visit  to  that  distinguished  relative  from  whom  his  expectations 
were  so  great ;  if  Miss  Mary  had  failed  to  recall  the  shame-faced 
little  lover  in  this  smart  young  fellow,  whose  costume  must  have 
astonished  the  fishes,  and  was  certainly  not  of  a  kind  with  that  they 
had  been  used  to  regard  upon  the  persons  of  the  anglers  of  that 
region,  there  would  have  been  no  just  cause  for  wonder.  Had  he  not 
been  abroad  meanwhile,  and  mingled,  as  all  our  countrymen  do,  in 
the  best  foreign  society  ?  Were  not  his  manners  now  so  far  from 
being  distrait  as  almost  to  fall  into  the  opposite  extreme  of  too  great 
assurance  1  and  was  he  not  esteemed  by  all  the  young  ladies  of  his 
set  in  the  city,  a  love  of  a  man  1  and  finally,  was  not  his  present  nose 
as  unlike  that  through  which,  as  a  boy,  he  had  had  that  ugly  habit  of 
sniffling ;  and  his  face  as  dissimilar  from  the  beardless  and  freckled 
cheek  of  that  period,  as  time,  nature,  and  a  careful  employment  of 
art  could  make  them  1 

But  after  all,  there  was  no  merit  really  in  Miss  Jones'  recognition. 
She  had  quite  forgotten  the  lover  of  three  feet  six,  when  one  day, 
walking  with  Madame  Treubleu's  pensionnaires  through  Lafayette 
Place,  two  youngsters  dashed  by  in  a  trotting  wagon,  not  so  fast  but 
that  Miss  Simmons,  who,  being  the  chum  of  Miss  Jones,  was  then,  as 
ever,  linked  arm  in  arm  with  our  heroine,  had  time  to  recognize  a 
cousin,  of  whom  she  was  naturally  proud,  and  his  friend. 

"  Why,  lor  !"  Miss  Simmons  exclaimed,  "  if  there  ain't  Prunelle 
and  Mr.  Van  Trump.  O  my  !  such  lovely  eyes  as  Mr.  Van  Trump 
has,  you  can't  think !  I  saw  him  at  my  aunt's  soiree  the  other  night, 
though  no  body  introduced  him  to  me.  They  say  he  is  going  to  see 
his  great  uncle,  who  lives  in  our  village,  you  know.  Won't  it  be 
funny  if  he  waits  till  we  go  home  ourselves,  and  pays  attention  to  a 
certain  some  body  and  makes  some  body  else  jealous  ?  You  know  you 
would  fall  in  love  w^ith  him,"  Miss  Columbia  Simmons  says  to  her 
friend,  giggling  behind  her  fan ;  "  he  is  so  handsome,  and  he  said  he 
was  your  sweetheart  when  you  were  no  bigger  than  Nanny 
there." 


352  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  Poh !  what  nonsense  !"  her  friend  replies,  and  changes  the  topic. 
But  she  did  not  dismiss  it  from  her  mind,  for  that  very  evening  she 
wrote  a  name  in  the  fly-leaf  of  her  Italian  grammar  which,  when  her 
chum  looked  over  her  shoulder,  she  hid,  or  attempted  to  hide,  with 
quite  a  show  of  color,  and  some  confusion.  But  Miss  Columbia  hav 
ing  pulled  away  the  hand,  in  school-girl  fashion,  read  it  and  laughed. 

"Ah !  you  naughty,  funny  thing !"  said  she,  "  '  Mrs.  Clarence  Van 
Trump  /'  Ah,  won't  some  body  be  jealous  !" 

Now,  although  tender-hearted  little  Mary  Jones  repented  on  that 
occasion,  and  actually  shed  tears  upon  her  pillow  after  her  chum  was 
asleep,  and  called  herself  I  don't  know  how  many  hard  names  for  her 
hard-heartedness  in  forgetting,  for  an  instant,  all  the  good  qualities  of 
one  Thomas  Elkhart,  and  how  devoted  to  her,  and  what  a  genius  he 
was,  and  a  great  deal  more ;  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  a  young 
lady  on  the  point  of  leaving  boarding-school,  and  whose  patronym 
was  merely  Jones,  to  despise  the  probability,  or  shun  at  all  times  the 
thought,  of  being  one  day  received  into  the  distinguished  connection 
of  the  great  Van  Trump  family.  Was  not  that  family  the  most 
aristocratic  in  America,  and  possessed  of  estates  and  tenantry  which 
made  them  almost  resemble  the  dear  old  romantic  barons  of  feudal 
times  1  Had  not  old  Van  Trump,  the  major-general,  pounded  over 
and  over  again  upon  the  floor  or  ground,  as  the  case  might  be,  with 
his  splendid  gold-headed  cane,  the  better  to  enforce  his  views,  and 
averred  that  — "A  Van  Trump,  Sir,  is  fit  to  marry  a  princess,  Sir,  and 
ought,  by  right,  to  hold  the  position  of  perpetual  chief  magistrate  of 
this  country,  Sir,  without  the  fiddle-faddle  of  the  ballot-box  !"  And 
was  not  the  old  patroon  who  lived  in  her  (Mary  Jones')  own  village, 
but  had  very  little  to  do  with  any  body  there,  so  dreadfully  proud 
that  people  said  he  ate  with  nothing  less  than  gold  spoons'?  gold 
spoons  —  think  of  that !  The  idea  of  one  of  this  distinguished 
family  paying  court  to  so  undistinguished  a  maiden  as  Miss  Man- 
Jones  was  perhaps  enough  to  turn  the  head  of  a  school-girl  who  had 
devoured  any  quantity  of  romances  during  the  past  eighteen  months, 
and  was  not  wiser  or  more  experienced  than  girls  in  their  teens  usu 
ally  are. 

But  crotchets  such  as  these  are  not  the  offspring  of  young  heads 


THE  LOVES  OF  MARY  JONES.  353 

only ;  and  it  might  be  that  Mrs.  Jones  herself  entertained  some 
vague  wishes,  not  to  say  anticipations,  when,  looking  from  her  door 
step  on  the  afternoon  with  which  this  tale  commences,  in  search 
of  Miss  Mary,  for  whom  their  early  country  tea  waited  and  gave 
out  such  an  odor  of  Bohea  and  fresh  cakes  from  the  back-parlor, 
whom  should  she  behold  but  that  truant,  accompanied  by  Mr. 
Clarence  Van  Trump,  elegantly  flourishing  his  fishing-rod,  now  re 
duced  to  the  size  of  a  stout  cane,  and  wonderfully  resembling  the 
paternal  gold-headed  one.  Perhaps  he  was  taking  off  that  swagger 
of  the  brigadier-general,  the  better  to  illustrate  an  incident  in  which 
they  two  had  had  a  share  on  the  sands  of  Newport,  at  which  Miss 
Mary  and  himself  were  now  laughing.  At  all  events,  the  pair  of 
young  people  were  as  sociable  as  if  Mr.  Clarence  had  never  lived 
elsewhere  than  with  his  great  uncle,  the  patroon,  and  as  Mrs.  Jones 
thought,  with  pride  in  her  heart,  on  their  coming  up. 

That  estimable  lady,  after  the  first  glimpse  she  had  obtained  of 
her  daughter's  escort,  had  slipped  into  her  chamber,  hard  by,  and 
donned,  a  new  and  famously  be-bowed  cap,  the  pretty  handiwork 
of  Mary  herself,  before  you  could  say  Jack  Robinson ;  and  re 
appeared  as  if  she  had  not  been  guilty  of  that  sly  manoeuvre.  She 
even  affected  for  a  moment  to  overlook  the  presence  of  the  heir 
of  the  patroon. 

"  Mr.  Clarence  Van  Trump,"  Miss  Mary  said,  smilingly  present 
ing  that  young  gentleman,  who  bowed  elegantly,  as  his  wont  is. 
Mrs.  Jones  also  dropped  a  courtsey  in  the  manner  of  a  lady's  maid 
on  the  boards,  which  she  believed  to  have  a  stylish  effect,  and  to  show 
her  familiarity  with  good  society.  "  Columbia  is  here,"  Mrs.  J.  re 
marks  to  her  Mary,  inclining  her  head  in  the  direction  of  the  parlor, 
'•  and  Mr.  Tom.  He  has  something  wrapped  in  a  cloth  which  he  will 
not  let  us  see.  You  do  n't  know  Mr.  Thomas  Elkhart,  do  you,  sir  ?" 
says  Mrs.  J.  to  Clarence. 

"I  really  haven't  the  pleasure,"  Mr.  Clarence  returns,  glancing  at 
our  heroine,  who  does  not  look  at  him,  but  colors,  a  little,  perhaps. 
"  Is  tea  ready  ?"  she  asks  mamma,  and  mamma  takes  the  hint. 

"  I  trust  you  will  give  us  the  pleasure  of  your  company  at  our 
humble  board,"  the  dear  soul  says,  with  much  urbanity  and  state ; 
23 


354  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

and  when  our  young  gentleman,  after  pretending  to  hesitate  on  the 
score  of  the  solitary  condition  of  his  uncle,  whom  the  rogue  knew 
to  be  at  that  hour,  namely,  candle-light,  on  the  eve  of  getting  into 
bed,  allows  himself  to  be  entreated,  and  declares  taking  tea  in  that 
house  reminds  him  of  the  happy  days  of  his  boyhood.  Mrs.  Jones, 
I  am  bound  to  say,  being  of  a  sanguine  turn  of  mind,  began  to  specu 
late  in  earnest  upon  the  probability  of  a  certain  desirable  event. 

It  has  just  been  disclosed  that  the  elder  Van  Trump  —  not  the  briga 
dier-general,  but  the  patroon  —  retired  with  the  sun,  or  a  little  later, 
partly  because  his  constitution  and  senile  infirmities  required,  and 
partly  because,  having  few  associates  among  his  immediate  neighbors, 
the  best  way  of  disposing  of  the  tedium  of  the  evenings  was  to  cut  it 
short  altogether.  During  the  occasional  visits  of  his  grand-nephew 
and  heir,  it  is  true,  the  last-named  motive  could  not  be  said  to  exist, 
but  it  was  scarce  worth  his  while,  the  old  man  thought,  to  break  in 
upon  a  habit  of  years'  growth  for  a  satisfaction  of  ten  days'  standing ; 
so  Mr.  Clarence,  had  he  staid  at  home  on  the  night  in  question, 
would  have  had  a  dull  time  of  it  in  the  library,  yawning  or  dozing 
over  a  few  dusty  gazetteers  or  odd  volumes  of  magazines,  containing 
such  tales  as  delighted  our  grandmothers  a  half  century  back.  To 
own  the  truth,  however,  it  was  not  the  habit  of  our  young  gentleman 
to  spend  many  hours  of  the  evening  within  the  recesses  of  the  dismal 
pile  known  among  the  villagers  as  the  'Squirery,  on  the  occasions  of 
his  visits ;  and  occasionally  he  was  absent  —  looking  at  the  moon, 
perhaps  —  at  least,  that  was  what  he  told  the  ancient  housekeeper  — 
most  of  the  night.  But  at  breakfast-table,  next  morning,  Mr.  Cla 
rence  was  sure  to  present  himself,  whence-ever  he  might  last  come, 
and  make  himself  agreeable  to  the  great  proprietor  sitting  opposite, 
sipping  his  weak  tea,  and  wagging  his  revered  head  at  the  sallies  and 
gossip  of  his  youthful  kinsman.  The  morning  after  the  evening  spent 
in  Miss  Mary  Jones's  society,  the  Joneses  were,  of  course,  the  text. 

"  You  ought  to  have  seen  Mother  Jones,  Sir  !"  Mr.  Clarence  said. 
That  was  the  scarcely  respectful  way  in  which  he  chose  to  designate 
that  worthy  lady.  "  Such  attention  as  she  paid  me !  By  Jove !  if  I 
had  eaten  half  the  sweet-meats,  only,  she  put  upon  my  plate  at  sup 
per,  you  would  have  had  to  send  for  Snack's  successor  before  morn- 


THE  LOVES  OF  MARY  JONES.  355 

ing.  I  was  obliged  to  take  refuge  from  her  in  the  conversation  of 
her  lovely  daughter,  who  plays  the  deuce-knows-what,  all  upon  a  piano 
that  has  a  distinct  jingle  in  most  of  the  chords,  as  if  a  handful  of  silver 
were  dancing  a  jig  upon  them.  And  then  there  was  a  sandy-haired 
young  lady  present  —  a  hand-and-glove  friend  of  little  Mary  Jones,  I 
presume,  who  could  not  help  casting  admiring  glances  at  your  hum 
ble  servant  all  the  evening,  and  would  have  fallen  in  love  at  a  mo 
ment's  notice  if  I  had  given  her  half  a  chance.  As  it  was,  she  told 
me  she  had  seen  me  at  a  crush  at  one  of  Prunelle's  confounded  low 
relatives',  where  I  went  to  please  him,  and  also  somewhere  in  the 
streets,  I  believe.  What  do  you  think  they  call  her,  Sir  1  by  Jove ! 
you  could  never  guess:  'Columbia;'  patriotic,  ain't  it?  Columbia 
Brown,  or  Smith,  or  something." 

"  Simmons,  Columbia  Simmons,  I  know,"  the  old  gentleman  says, 
nodding  and  chuckling.  It  quite  rejuvenates  him  to  listen  to  the 
prattle  of  his  nephew.  "Ah !  ah !  you  young  rogue,"  the  senior  adds 
presently,  while  the  young  rogue  sips  his  coffee,  and  smirks  a  little 
complacently  behind  his  old-fashioned  mug ;  "  I  see  how  it  was ;  you 
had  it  all  your  own  way.  If  there  had  been  some  other  youngster 
present,  you  would  not  have  thought  widow  Jones  and  the  rest  of 
them  setting  their  caps  for  you,  aha !" 

"Why,  for  the  matter  of  that,"  says  Mr.  Clarence,  no  ways 
abashed,  "I  was  not  precisely  cavalier-seul,  you  know.  There  was 
one  Buckhart,  or  Elkhart,  or  something  of  the  sort  there  —  a  not 
ill-looking  fellow  for  his  station,  which  I  take  to  be  that  of  a  mecha 
nic.  But  his  style  of  costume  ;  by  the  lord  Harry  !  Sir.  I  looked  at 
him  with  as  much  curiosity  as  if  he  had  been  a  South  Sea  Islander, 
and,  to  say  the  truth,  he  regarded  me  rather  cavalierly  in  turn.  He 
had  something  wrapped  in  a  handkerchief,  which  might  have  been  the 
remains  of  his  dinner  for  any  thing  I  know,  though  he  had  better  have 
left  it,  in  that  case,  in  the  passage,  instead  of  on  the  centre-table  in  the 
parlor.  Who  is  he  ?"  Mr.  Clarence  asks  with  a  short  laugh.  "  Does 
he  do  jobs  for  you  in  brick  and  mortar  ?  I  fancied  his  hands  looked 
rather  gritty,  Sir." 

"  No,  no ;  not  he,  but  his  grandfather  did,"  the  great-uncle  returns. 
"  Elkhart,  the  potter ;  that  water-jug  was  made  at  his  pottery.  And 


356  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

that 's  where  he  made  the  money  this  young  fellow  is  to  have  directly, 
they  say.  We  old  fellows  stand  in  you  youngsters'  shoes  unreason 
ably  long ;  hey,  Clary,  my  boy  1" 

"  Not  in  mine,  Sir ;  HEAVEN  forbid !"  Mr.  Clary  says  piously  and 
hypocritically. 

"  Well,  well,  what  were  we  talking  about  ?  Elkhart,  the  potter. 
No,  young  Elkhart  —  Tom,  I  think  they  call  him.  Instead  of  making 
jugs  and  pots,  his  turn  is  for  modelling  little  figures  in  clay,  and  very 
pretty  figures,  too,  if  Bridget  here  is  to  be  credited.  Bridget  was  in 
their  house  awhile,  were  n't  you,  Bridget  T  And  Bridget,  who,  broom 
in  hand,  chanced  to  be  slipping  through  to  arrive  at  a  neighboring 
chamber,  stops,  nothing  loth,  and  drops  a  low  courtsey.  "  Sure  an'  he 
does,"  she  says,  "  the  beautifullest  things  iver  was  seen,  Sir.  Sure 
aii'  did  n't  he  make  the  Blissed  Virgin,  Holy  Mother  of  Hiven,  out 
of  as  much  mud  —  thrue  as  I  'm  standing  here,  Sir  —  as  might  go  in 
your  tay-cup !  And  more  than  that,  though  not  wishing  to  be  min- 
tioned  in  the  same  breath,  me  and  my  ould  blind  mother,  Sir,  the  first 
time  we  came  to  the  old  gintleman's  house,  my  mother  houlding  me 
by  the  hand,  and  groping  with  her  staff  like,  and  me  a-wearing  the  tore 
bonnet  which  the  mistress  Hannagan  gave  me  in  the  ould  country, 
sure,  and  set  us  up  on  the  mantel-shelf  where  any  body  can  see  us  to 
this  blissed  day  for  the  asking.  An'  agin,  my  own  pathron  Saint 
Bridget,  which,"  says  Bridget,  suddenly  dropping  a  curtsey  and  her 
broom,  and  disappearing  to  return  again  presently  and  take  up  her 
sentence  where  interrupted,  "will  your  honors  be  pleased  to  igxa- 
mine  ?" 

Now,  Mr.  Clarence  Van  Trump,  though  at  the  time  a  fop,  and,  I 
am  afraid,  a  little  of  a  roue,  was  neither  a  blockhead  nor  so  ignorant 
of  art  as  most  of  his  compeers.  He  had  not  spent  all,  if  he  had  the 
greater  part,  of  his  time,  in  Paris  in  the  cafes  and  hells,  or  places 
worse  yet,  and  by  mere  occasional  contact  with  artists  and  connois 
seurs,  had  picked  up  some  slight  acquaintance  with  the  subject  under 
consideration.  Neither  was  he  ill-natured  or  apt  to  bear  malice, 
though  his  self-love  had  been  slightly  wounded  the  evening  previous 
by  the  young  sculptor,  or  modeller,  if  you  will,  having  failed  to  do 
him  homage,  I  believe.  On  that  occasion  he  had  planned  to  avenge 


THE  LOVES  OF  MARY  JONES.  357 

himself  by  flirting  with  little  Mary  Jones,  and  making  her  lover,  as 
he  more  than  suspected  him  to  be,  miserable  during  his  (Van  Trump's) 
stay  in  the  vicinity.  But  Bridget's  patron  saint  caused  him  to  forget 
his  resolve  the  moment  he  had  taken  the  figure  into  his  hand. 

"  By  Jove !"  said  he  ingenuously,  "  it  is  wonderful !  by  Jove,  it 
is !  and  as  good  as  What-d'ye-call-em,  the  great  modeller's,  in  Paris. 
I  can  guess  now  what  was  in  the  cloth  on  the  table :  something  pretty 
for  Miss  Mary  Jones,  I  '11  be  bound.  I  '11  ask  her  to  show  it  to  me, 
and  I  '11  get  him  to  let  me  see  his  Madonna,  and  Bridget's  likeness, 
and  the  rest.  I  '11  make  friends  with  him,  I  will,  by  Jove  !"  cried  our 
young  dilletanti,  and  meant  all  he  said. 

Even  pretty  Mary  Jones  had  not  seen  what  the  thick  cloth  con 
cealed  the  night  before,  until  Miss  Simmons  had  been  duly  escorted 
home,  over  the  way,  and  young  Van  Trump,  believing  the  enemy  to 
have  abandoned  the  field,  went  away  himself.  That  young  gentle 
man,,  however,  would  have  smoked  his  cigar  with  less  gusto  on  his 
way  to  bed,  had  he  surmised  that,  however  his  whispered  flatteries 
had  fluttered  the  little  heart  of  our  heroine,  and  for  the  matter  of  that 
of  castle-building  mamma  also,  not  one  pang  of  jealousy  had  he  yet 
created  in  the  breast  of  his  single-minded  rival.  Why  should  he 
(Elkhart)  have  been  miserable  ?  He  had  formed  his  own  estimate  of 
the  worth  of  elegant  Mr.  Clarence,  and  scarce  troubled  himself,  save 
in  one  instance,  to  enter  the  lists  into  which  that  accomplished  cava 
lier  desired  to  lure  him,  sure  of  victory  in  the  end.  While  Mr.  Cla 
rence  was  turning  the  music,  and  singing  second,  and  otherwise  mani 
festing  his  interest  and  admiration,  though  secretly  amused  and  pur 
posing  to  take  it  all  off  to  a  few  of  his  friends  in  the  city  some  day 
after  dinner,  Elkhart  stood  by  with  an  ear  only  for  the  one  voice  out 
of  three,  which  to  him  always  discoursed  melody.  For  him  there 
were  no  jingling  keys  in  the  whole  ricketty  piano-forte,  no  false  note 
in  Miss  Columbia's  singing,  even  when  she  dropped  her  handkerchief 
and  picked  it  up  tittering,  (Mr.  Clarence  feigning  blindness  on  the 
occasion,)  and  fell  again  into  her  place  in  the  concert.  For  him 
"  Mary  Jones"  was  a  name  interchangeable  with  "  angel,"  and  where 
she  dwelt  by  no  means  the  humble  residence  the  widow's  house  in 
reality  was,  and  such  as  Mr.  Clarence  unmistakably  perceived  it. 


358  .  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

All  through  his  art,  like  a  vein  of  gold  in  the  clay  he  modelled,  the 
thought  of  her  beauty,  her  sweetness,  her  excellences  ran:  "If  I 
could  but  model  her  as  she  appears  to  me !"  he  thought  over  and 
over ;  but,  then,  what  artist  who  is  a  lover  can  1  "  With  wings  upon 
her  shoulders  and  the  softly  flowing  white  dress  she  wears  on  mid 
summer  afternoons,  I  think  all  the  world  would  stop  and  hold  its 
breath  for  reverence  and  love  of  a  figure  and  face  so  celestial !"  And 
so,  though  the  task  seemed  impossible,  he  had  set  about  it  in  earnest, 
and  labored  on  in  secret  and  patiently,  until  there  stood  your  proto 
type,  prettier,  perhaps,  than  yourself,  but  still  yourself  and  none 
other,  O  gentle  Mary  Jones  !  A  charming  figure  it  was,  too ;  not  a 
copy  of  an  antique,  or  modelled  after  rules  of  ancient  art ;  but  pos 
sessing  a  maiden-like  purity  of  outline  which  made  equally  consistent 
the  muslin  skirt  or  the  wings  which  were  not  at  first  sight  visible ; 
they  were  budding  wings,  rather  than  matured,  and  so,  perhaps,  helped 
to  embody  his  ideal  of  a  person  he  believed  to  be  mortally  perfect. 

When  Senator  Maecenas  saw  the  statuette  —  it  was  nearly  life- 
size,  and  the  most  ambitious  our  hero  had  modelled  —  he  had  much 
ado  to  persuade  the  young  sculptor  to  send  it  to  a  neighboring  city ; 
but  that  he  did  so,  and  found  himself  famous,  and  that  Senator  Mecse- 
nas  subsequently  obtained  for  him  the  order  for  the  great  national 
work  in  marble  upon  which  he  is  now  engaged,  we  all  know ;  for  it  is 
not  a  part  of  the  policy  of  that  great  man  to  keep  secret  the  good 
deeds  he  perpetrates,  but  rather  to  let  both  hands  know  what  either 
may  be  doing.  But  let  us  all  hope,  for  our  hero's  sake,  that  this  great 
wrork  may  not  resemble  the  wonderful  pantomime  in  marble  of 
COLUMBUS  perpetually  performing  on  the  steps  of  the  national  Capitol, 
which  does  so  much  credit  to  the  taste  of  the  committee  who  accepted 
it,  and  is  so  much  more  laughable  than  any  pantomime  that  was  ever 
acted  before. 

Before  it  went,  however,  young  Elkhart  made  a  copy  of  his  earth- 
angel  in  piccolo,  and  this  it  was  that  he  brought  for  a  gift  to  the  fair 
original.  She  only,  of  all  the  village,  had  seen  and  praised  the  statu 
ette  ;  and  with  her  pretty  dimpled  chin  resting  in  her  hand,  watching 
the  unwrapping  of  its  lesser  fac-simile,  was  it  that  she  was  reminded 
of  the  blissful  occasion,  when  they  two,  standing  before  his  best  work, 


THE  LOVES  OF  MARY  JONES.  359 

she  had  conceived  herself  honored  in  the  love  of  this  young  artist, 
moustacheless  though  he  were,  and  by  no  means  so  elegantly  winning 
in  address  as  our  friend  Van  1  But,  O  Mary  Jones !  of  whom  as  a 
heroine  nothing  but  good  should  be  predicated,  how  can  I  bring  my 
self  to  declare  what  really  occupied  your  thoughts  ?  "  Did  they  really 
and  truly  use  a  service  of  gold  up  in  the  'Squirery  yonder  ?  and  how 
fine  it  must  be  to  dine  off  plate !"  were  the  initial  words  of  your 
reverie.  And  when  young  Elkhart  had  unswathed  the  graceful  copy 
of  your  own  unworthy  self,  and  asked,  with  a  slight  dash  of  disap 
pointment  in  his  voice,  perhaps,  Was  it  not  like  the  other,  and  Did  n't 
you  like  it  1  it  was  not  a  flush  of  pleasure  that  rose  to  your  cheek,  so 
much  as  a  blush  for  your  own  faithlessness. 

"It  is  beautiful!  How  good  you  are  to  me!"  she  exclaimed, 
awaking  with  a  start,  and,  as  has  been  said,  a  blush ;  and  leaning  over 
the  statuette,  half  concealed  both  her  face  and  it  in  a  cloud  of  curls ; 
and  be  sure  Elkhart  repeated  to  himself  many  times  on  his  way  home 
those  simple  words,  and  built  as  many  castles  in  Spain  (though  of  dif 
ferent  materials)  as  Mrs.  Jones  herself  was  doing  about  the  same 
time. 

That  excellent  lady,  though  no  strategist,  was  as  fond  as  her  sex  — 
and  for  the  matter  of  that,  ours,  too  —  of  having  her  own  quiet  way, 
and  so  the  next  forenoon,  when  our  friend  Van  T.,  having  yawned  and 
bored  himself  to  the  extent  of  his  capacity  at  home,  bethought  him 
self  of  paying  the  Joneses  a  morning  visit,  but  in  the  end  changed  his 
mind,  and  sent  a  note  instead,  soliciting  the  pleasure  of  driving  out 
Miss  Jones  in  the  cool  of  the  afternoon ;  and  when  the  fair  recipient 
of  the  note  remembered  the  trotting  wagon  in  which  Mr.  Clarence 
and  his  friend  had  dashed  by  in  Lafayette  Place,  and  how  delightful  it 
must  be,  but  recalled  also  a  promise  given  to  some  body  else  the  past 
evening,  and  sent  a  polite  excuse,  the  widow,  who  took  the  message 
to  the  door  in  person,  added  a  protocol  to  the  effect  that  if  Mary  could 
not,  Miss  Columbia  might :  a  message  which  amused  Mr.  Clarence, 
and  of  which,  on  cross-questioning  the  servant  who  brought  it,  he  saga 
ciously  divined  the  latent  purport. 

Therefore  it  was  that  without  the  least  intention  of  honoring  the 
lat,t-named  young  lady,  and  to  whom,  though  she  had  spent  the  major 


360  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

part  of  that  very  forenoon  in  her  house,  mamma  Jones  had  not,  in 
truth,  communicated  one  word  of  the  supposed  treat  in  store  for  her, 
Mr.  Clarence  Van  Trump  presented  himself  at  quite  an  early  hour  at 
the  widow's  door,  not  in  the  rather  rickety  chaise  upon  leathern 
springs,  in  which  the  patroon  made  his  manorial  progresses,  but  in  a 
light  wagon,  which  our  young  gentleman,  knowing  the  style  of  equip 
age  in  use  where  he  was  about  to  go  in  pursuance  of  duty,  had  caused 
to  be  forwarded  all  the  way  from  the  city.  Was  it  the  showy  ele 
gance  of  the  carriage,  or  the  high-spirited  horse  which  had  brought  it 
to  the  door  with  such  marvellous  celerity,  and  stood  pawing  the  dust, 
impatient  to  be  gone  again ;  or  the  subtle  charm  of  Mr.  Clarence's 
moustache  and  pleading  manner,  which  made  the  invitation  now  irre 
sistible?  No;  Mrs.  Jones,  be  it  said,  aided  by  good-natured  and 
unsuspecting  Miss  Simmons,  had  carried  the  day  beforehand.  The 
arguments  that  had  been  used  were  not  very  strong  of  their  kind,  and 
were  chiefly  confined  to  truisms.  They  said  a  ride  in  a  nice  wagon 
with  so  pleasant  a  companion,  was  not  to  be  picked  up  in  the  streets ; 
that  she,  Mary  Jones,  could  of  course  walk  at  any  time ;  that  Thomas 
Elkhart  would  not,  of  course,  be  so  unreasonable  as  to  be  offended, 
even  if  she  had  promised  to  walk  with  him  this  afternoon,  and  much 
more  of  the  sort.  After  all,  it  has  not  been  said  that  Miss  Mary 
Jones  was  perfect,  but  only  that  Elkhart  believed  her  so.  She  was 
very  pretty  and  amiable,  and  not  naturally  coquettish ;  but  who  could 
resist  the  fascinating  influences  concentred  in  Mr.  Clarence  Van 
Trump  ?  And  what  was  it,  Mr.  Clarence,  that  you  said  in  the  course 
of  your  drive,  which  so  turned,  for  a  time,  the  not  over-strong  little 
head  beside  you  1  And  what  was  there  in  the  face  of  young  Elkhart, 
when  you  two  met  him  taking  his  perforce  solitary  walk,  which  stung 
you  into  forgetting  your  late  resolve  to  patronize  this  native  artist, 
and  caused  you  to  commence  that  methodical  flirtation  which  ended 
somewhat  otherwise  than  you  anticipated  ? 

Mr.  Thomas  Elkhart  had,  in  the  meanwhile,  indeed,  enjoyed  a 
tete-a-tete  interview  with  the  mother  of  the  young  lady  in  lieu  of  her 
absent  self,  and  may  not  have  been  the  better  in  temper  for  a  rather 
odd  conversation,  in  which  Mrs.  J.  had  been  chief  speaker.  lie  had 
learned  with  surprise,  and  perhaps,  for  the  first  time,  something 


THE  LOVES  OF  MARY  JONES.  361 

approaching  jealousy,  that  he  had  been  unjustifiably  slighted ;  that 
Mamma  Jones  thought  Clarence  a  most  desirable  match  for  her  Mary, 
and  was  disposed  to  believe  his  (Thomas')  love  for  the  same  young 
lady,  and  their  tacit  engagement,  and  all  that,  mere  child's  play, 
which  they  would  both  have  forgotten  when  he  (Elkhart)  had  been  a 
year  in  Italy.  He  was  going  there  soon,  was  n't  he  ?  Now  that  he 
was  of  age  and  had  come  into  the  property,  of  course  he  could 
travel  and  improve  his  mind,  and  perhaps  would  marry  some  foreign 
lady  and  settle  abroad,  who  knows  ? 

Elkhart  knew,  if  Mrs.  Jones  did  not,  there  was  only  one  woman 
in  the  wide  world  who  would  ever  be  his  wife.  He  looked  at  the 
castle-building  lady  in  the  fine  cap  (donned  not  to  do  him,  but  Mr. 
Clarence,  honor)  without  resentment,  but  with  a  hitherto  unknown 
weight  at  heart.  He  quite  understood  the  latent  meaning  in  what 
he  had  just  heard,  and  the  not  unkind  motive  in  which  it  may  have 
originated ;  there  was  no  balm  in  that.  He  went  home  and  chipped 
away  at  a  block  of  marble  without  purpose,  then  threw  down  his 
tools,  and  walking  out  at  random,  encountered  our  heroine,  who, 
however,  did  not  see  him  as  they  flew  by,  her  face  being  addressed 
elsewhere.  But  Mr.  Clarence,  whose  eyes  were  just  then  engaged  in 
peering  admiringly  under  the  bonnet  with  the  fluttering  blue  stream 
ers,  naturally  caught  the  rather  fierce  glance  which  proceeded  from 
the  same  direction  a  little  beyond,  and  involuntarily  bit  his  lip  and 
frowned.  "  Confound  his  impudence  !"  he  growled,  below  his  breath, 
"  does  the  fellow  remember  who  I  am,  and  what  he  is  ?  By  Jove  !  I 
suppose  he  is  jealous,  and  waylaid  us  to  frighten  this  little  girl,  who 
is  a  deuced  deal  too  pretty  for  him  to  think  of,  by  the  bye ;  and  I  'm 
glad  his  purpose  miscarried,  and  my  stare  was  all  he  got  in  return 
for  his  ill-looks." 

"  Why,  dear !  how  cross  you  look,"  cried  Miss  Mary,  in  great 
astonishment,  who  saw  no  cause  for  the  change  of  countenance. 

"  Cross  !  what,  to  you  !  Did  I  look  so  ?  Surely  not,"  was  what 
Mr.  Clarence  replied,  with  a  very  different  expression  of  face.  "  By 
the  Lord  Harry !"  he  added,  mentally,  he  had  been  been  looking, 
while  he  spoke,  so  earnestly  at  his  companion  that  she  was  blushing 
a  little,  and  looking  prettier  for  it,  "  how  charming  she  is !  and  I 


362  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

will  flirt  with  her  to  my  heart's  content,  if  only  to  spite  what's  his 
name,  the  potter." 

Perhaps  it  was  in  virtue  of  this  resolution  that  he  was  so  amiable 
and  pleased  with  every  thing  on  the  widow's  supper-table.  What 
bread,  and  what  delicious  butter !  and  did  Miss  Mary  really  and  truly 
make  that  cake  ?  He  had  tasted  nothing  like  it  in  New- York,  nor  in 
Paris  either.  And  this  must  be  caravan  tea ;  it  could  be  no  other. 

The  tea  was  some  Mrs.  J.'s  brother,  Captain  Bluff,  in  the  East- 
Indian  trade,  had  brought  home  for  her ;  and  so  was  the  preserved 
ginger.  lie  must  try  some ;  it  was  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for 
a 

"  O  ma !"  cried  Miss  Mary  here.  Indeed  the  old  lady  valued 
it  as  a  stomachic,  and  never  brought  it  to  table  even  when  her  best 
friends  supped  with  her  ;  but  who,  let  it  again  be  asked,  could  resist 
the  blandishments  of  so  delightful  a  guest  1  It  almost  brought  tears 
to  her  eyes  to  see  how  he  ate  out  of  their  plated  spoons  as  if  they 
had  been  the  gold  ones  he  was  accustomed  to,  and  which  she  began 
to  think  her  Mary  would  one  day  have  the  charge  of  counting.  She 
longed  to  tell  him  he  had  her  consent  and  blessing  beforehand,  and 
took  great  credit,  in  secret,  for  the  adroit  conversation  with  poor 
Thomas  Elkhart,  which  no  doubt  caused  that  young  gentleman's  seat 
at  table  to  be  vacant,  the  first  evening  for  weeks  past.  To  do  her 
justice,  our  heroine  noticed  the  empty  place  too,  and  with  some  ex 
pressions  of  regret,  at  first,  which  annoyed  Mr.  Clarence  more  than 
he  would  have  chosen  to  confess ;  but  as  the  field  was  his  for  the 
evening,  and  he  exerted  himself  to  fascinate,  perhaps  Elkhart  was  in 
the  thoughts  of  none  of  them  long.  Mrs.  J.,  who,  for  the  past  hour, 
had  been  rocking  herself  in  her  state  mahogany-and-mohair  chair, 
smiling  perpetually,  listening  and  castle-building,  declared  him,  when 
he  was  gone,  to  be  the  most  talented  young  man  she  had  ever  laid 
eyes  on ;  meaning  young  Van  Trump  !  What  beautiful  compliments 
he  paid  !  Who  was  that  he  said  she  was  like  —  the  Duchess  who  ? 
Sweet  Mary  Jones  did  not  remember  the  name,  but  she  did  the  sub 
stance  of  the  compliment,  and  of -many  others,  and  wished  in  her  heart 
Elkhart  were  as  elegant  in  address.  Thomas  Elkhart  seemed  to 
think  her  better  than  she  was,  she  knew,  but  then  why  did  n't  he  say 


THE  LOVES  OF  MARY  JONES.  363 

so  sometimes,  even  if  she  were  not  to  believe  it  all  ?  What  a  pity 
he  had  not  been  present  to  see  how  such  things  were  done  by  the 
best  society  ;  he  was  so  diffident  of  his  own  attainments,  and  so  will 
ing  always  to  learn,  that  she  was  sure  he  would  have  been  able  to 
pick  up  a  grace  or  two  while  looking  on.  Perhaps  he  might  have 
been  even  persuaded  into  wearing  a  moustache  in  future,  when  he 
heard  how  it  improved  a  bass  voice.  With  a  moustache  now,  and  his 
large  eyes  to  help,  he  would  look  almost  like  a  foreigner ;  more  so 
than  Mr.  Van  Trump  even,  though  of  course  not  so  good-looking. 
But  then  he  was  so  good ;  yes,  if  not  handsome,  he  was  certainly 
good,  very  good  to  her,  Miss  Mary  thought,  before  falling  asleep. 

If  Elkhart  had  not  had  some  good  in  him,  as  Mary  Jones  had  ad 
mitted  ;  and  more  than  that,  if  he  had  not  been  so  much  in  love  with 
our  pretty  heroine,  that  even  the  self-respect  which  lies  at  the  bottom 
of  all  worth  had  no  opportunity  to  assert  its  claim  to  consideration, 
perhaps  the  hints  thrown  out  by  Mrs.  J.,  in  person,  would  have  been 
received  for  the  daughter's  own  aspirations  at  second-hand,  and  his 
chair  at  the  widow's  supper-table  and  accustomed  place  in  her  little 
parlor,  have  remained  thenceforward  forever  untenanted.  But 
although  such  was  really  the  state  of  things  at  first,  the  lapse  of 
twenty-four  hours  brought  a  change  in  his  views.  He  even  began  to 
judge  himself  unreasonable,  and  to  be  contrite  accordingly.  Why 
should  she  not  ride  with  a  friend  on  occasion  1  The  fact  of  her  doing 
so,  under  the  circumstances,  showed  a  familiar  confidence  in  his  affec 
tion  which  he  was  sorry  to  feel  himself  unworthy  of.  Could  he  have 
seemed  more  a  Bluebeard  if  he  had  been  indeed  her  husband,  and 
she  anything  but  the  angel  she  was  ?  What  did  it  matter  if  he  should 
be  occasionally  compelled  to  listen,  in  common  with  sweet  Mary 
Jones,  to  this  Van  Trump's  flippancies  1  they  both  would  understand 
the  true  value  of  the  coin  in  which  he  dealt,  and  not  be  deluded  by 
its  glitter,  as  Mrs.  Jones  was.  He  could  afford  to  smile  now  when 
he  recalled  that  lady's  hints  and  inuendocs.  At  least,  however,  he 
would  make  amends  for  his  late  ill-humor,  this  true  lover  thought, 
by  leaving  his  angel  free  to  fly  about  with  whom  she  would,  to  ride 
when  she  willed,  and  be  as  happy  as  the  day  was  long.  For  himself, 
he  would  look  on  and  enjoy  her  happiness,  which  would  be  the  best 


364  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

means  of  securing  his  own.     And  full  of  this  fine  resolve,  young 
Elkhart,  the  following  evening,  took  his  usual  place  at  table,  and  by 
the  piano  afterward,  at  which  last  Mr.  Clarence  did  not  fail  to  join 
them  a  little  later.     The  ricketty  little  instrument  over  which  the 
glances  of  these  rivals  occasionally  met,  threateningly,  during  sub 
sequent  evenings,  became,  from  the  first,  a  battle-ground  for  both. 
If  Clarence  sang  and  laughed,  and  was   gay  and  audacious  in  his 
flatteries,  and  affected  to  overlook  our  hero's  presence,  for  the  most 
part,  the  last-named  young  gentleman  was  not  likely  to  beat  a  retreat 
after  the  first  instinctive  recoil  before  Mother  Jones's  fusilade,  unless 
by  order  expressed  or  implied  of  bewitching  Mary  Jones  herself. 
For  such  a  sign,  indeed,  he  watched  incessantly,  but  without  jealousy, 
and  with  nothing  like  a  scowl   upon    his    face    or   perdue  in  the 
depth  of  his  heart.      lie  did   not   think   to   console   himself  with 
the  trite  proverb  of  "  as  good  fish  as  she  being  to  find,"  but  in  his 
simplicity  believed  all  perfections  met  in  this  little  girl  with  blue 
eyes,  and  blue  ribbons  to  her  bonnet,  and  set  his  hopes  upon  her 
accordingly.     What  delightful  conversations  those  were  when  Mr. 
Clarence  was  absent,  or  had  not  yet  arrived,  and  how  much  more 
pleasing,  because  more  in  keeping  with  the  place  and  performer,  were 
Miss  Mary's  bird-like  songs,  than  the  fine  operatic  performances  with 
which  she  delighted  the  refined  and  travelled  ear  of  Mr.  Van  Trump. 
Elkhart  sometimes  talked  of  art  and  of  his  aspirations,  of  books,  of 
nature,  of  whatever  he  loved,  and  thought  this  eleve  of  Madame  Treu- 
bleu  loved  equally.     It  is  always  so  with  your  lovers.     Does  not- 
young  Cuticle,  whose  talk  is  chiefly  of  the  hospitals  which  he  has 
been   lately  walking   in   Paris,   believe   Miss  Tompkins   (who  had 
resolved  to  accept  him  long  before  he  proposed)  to  be  intended  by 
nature  for  a  surgeon's  wife,  because  she  would  actually  —  if  you  are 
polite  enough  to  take  her  word  for  it  —  prefer  a  walk  of  the  abovo 
kind  to  even  one  about  the  Palais  Eoyal  or  on  the  Boulevards.     The 
fault  lies  a  little  on  both  sides,  but  in  Mary  Jones's  case  there  was  at 
least  no  deception ;  she  liked  nature  very  well,  and  art,  and  books, 
and  so  on,  very  well  too,  and  so  she  did  music  and  admiration,  and 
perhaps  equally  every  thing  agreeable  you  could  name.     I  believe 
she  had  the  capacity  to  love  earnestly,  as  afterward  appeared,  bu    in 


THE  LOVES  OF  MARY  JONES.  365 

mere  matters  of  liking,  the  present  object  was  perhaps  the  best  liked, 
because  more  in  mind.  Mrs.  J.  would  fidget  a  little  during  these 
confidential  talks  between  the  young  people  in  the  dusk  of  the  after 
noon,  or  when  Elkhart,  leaning  over  her  Mary's  shoulder  to  turn  the 
music  of  some  favorite  air,  would  catch  the  kindly  glance  of  those 
cerulean  eyes,  and  be  incited  straightway  to  feel  himself,  as  of  old, 
the  accepted  suitor  of  so  much  loveliness.  But  when  that  exquisite 
Clarence  arrived  the  tables  were  quickly  turned.  I  verily  believe  he 
laid  out  his  plan  of  the  evening  campaign  during  the  mornings,  when 
he  had  nothing  better  to  do,  and  went  to  the  extent  of  committing  to 
heart  daily  a  page  or  two  out  of  an  old  copy  of  Joe  Miller,  one 
of  the  few  books  in  the  library  our  young  dandy  cared  to  kill  time 
by  reading.  Whence  else  did  he  pour  out  such  a  flood  of  slipshod 
anecdote,  sometimes  audaciously  told  for  his  own  adventures,  that  Miss 
Columbia  Simmons,  who  was  frequently  present,  gnawed  through  I 
do  n't  know  how  many  handkerchiefs,  in  attempts  to  stifle  her  laugh 
ter,  and  Mrs.  Jones  came  to  think  the  narrator  incomparably  more 
talented  than  our  hero,  who,  for  his  part,  commonly  sat  and  listened, 
with  more  philosophy  and  forbearance  than  gratification,  be  it  said. 
However  much  his  conclusions  may  have  differed  from  Mrs.  Jones's, 
he  kept  them  to  himself,  and  took  part  here  and  there  in  these  con 
versations,  on  which  occasions  Mr.  Van  Trump,  to  show  his  superior 
station,  perhaps,  rather  than  his  better  breeding,  usually  fell  to  talk 
ing  with  some  one  else.  In  truth  —  and  the  truth  will  out  at  some 
time  in  a  history  such  as  this  —  a  great  change  had  been  undergone 
since  the  beginning  of  this  pastoral  in  the  views  and  feelings  of  the 
young  gentleman  last  named.  He  had  ceased  to  make  fun  of 
"  Mother  Jones,"  as  he  had  at  first  called  her,  for  the  entertainment 
of  the  grinning  old  patroon,  at  the  breakfast-table,  and  some  how  had 
lost  perception  of  the  false  notes  in  the  performances  upon  the  veteran 
instrument  in  Mrs.  J.'s  parlor.  He  did  not  now  forget  the  flowers 
he  took  from  Miss  Mary's  scarcely  resisting  fingers,  and  suffer  them 
to  perish,  for  want  of  care,  in  the  button-hole  of  his  coat ;  the  glass 
on  his  bureau  at  home  always  contained  one  or  two.  He  had  her 
album  to  write  some  verses  in,  and  was  laboring  with  touching 
energy  to  collate  some  "  original  stanzas"  which  might  put  to 


366  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

shame  the  not  ungraceful  verses  preceding  them,  signed  T.  He 
drove  her  almost  every  afternoon  in  his  love  of  a  wagon,  he  attended 
her  to  church,  where  she  played  the  organ  in  lieu  of  a  professional, 
and  where  he  and  Elkhart  sang  bass  on  either  side  of  the  fair 
musician.  He  considered  with  himself  the  probability  of  being  dis 
inherited  in  a  certain  event,  and  was  so  much  in  love  that  he  gave  it 
little  heed.  He  had  chanced  to  step  in  twice  or  thrice  during  those 
familiar  chats  by  the  open  window,  between  Elkhart  and  our  heroine, 
already  recorded,  and  had  been  stung  to  jealousy  in  no  usual  degree. 

Elkhart  himself  had  not  been  without  his  trials  of  this  sort ;  and 
it  was  about  this  time,  one  evening,  that  Miss  Mary's  handkerchief — 
a  very  pretty  little  embroidered  handkerchief —  having  fallen  to  the 
floor,  Mr.  Van  Trump  hastened  to  possess  himself  of  it,  but  instead 
of  restoring  the  estray  first  pressed  it,  half-jestingly,  to  his  mous- 
tached  lips,  and  finally  deposited  it  under  his  vest  on  the  left  side. 
He  caught  his  rival's  eye  while  doing  so,  and  there  was  a  fierce 
wrath  in  its  blaze  which  caused  Mr.  Clarence  to  quake  a  little,  it 
must  be  admitted ;  perhaps  he  discerned,  by  some  curious  instinct, 
what  was  passing  just  then  in  the  other's  mind.  As  for  Miss  Jones, 
she  smiled,  I  am  sure,  when  she  turned  her  head  aside.  It  is  certain 
she  affected  to  see  nothing  of  the  impertinence ;  yet,  when  Van 
Trump  took  his  leave,  a  little  later,  and  our  hero,  following  suite, 
overtook  the  latter  in  the  street,  close  to  the  door,  and  there  inti 
mated,  in  a  tone  more  imperious  than  was  his  wont,  or  in  truth,  than 
members  of  that  distinguished  family  are  accustomed  to  be  ad 
dressed,  a  purpose  to  speak  with  Clarence  as  they  walked,  Miss  Mary 
Jones  suddenly  appeared  on  the  door-step  they  had  just  quitted,  and 
called  out  "  Mr.  Elkhart !"  in  her  most  persuasive  manner.  Then,  as 
he  only  looked  back  and  nodded,  with  a  somewhat  sardonic  smile,  she 
called  him  a  second  time,  by  his  Christian  name,  and  what  lover  could 
resist  that  ?  Tom,  as  has  been  noticed,  is  not  an  harmonious  syllable 
in  itself,  but  in  Miss  Mary  Jones's  pretty  mouth  it  became  quite 
irresistible ;  and  the  owner  came,  as  would  any  well-trained  dog — 
Mr.  Clarence  sauntering  slowly  on. 

"  Do  n't  ask  him  for  it ;  please  do  n't  ask  him  T'  the  young  lady 
supplicated  ;  meaning,  of  course,  the  handkerchief,  which  she  could 


THE  LOVES  OF  MARY  JONES.  367 

not  have  seen  Mr.  Clarence  Van  Trump  slip  under  his  vest.  Elk- 
hart  saw  the  inconsistency,  and  paused  in  what  he  was  about  to  say. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  thank  you :  I  know,"  Miss  Jones  ran  on ;  "  but  I  will 
send  for  it  in  the*  morning.  I  can  send  a  note  to  ask  if  he  took  it  by 
mistake,  or  mamma  can,  if  that  will  be  more  proper.  He  would 
never  return  it  to  you,  I  am  almost  sure." 

"No?"  saidElkhart. 

"  No ;  and  how  cross  you  are  !  Why  you  can  have  another 
handkerchief  just  like  it  to  keep  as  long  as  he  keeps  that.  Come  in, 
please,  or  promise  me  to  remain  there,  and  I  will  fetch  you  one." 

"  No,"  our  hero  said  a  second  time,  perhaps  a  little  scornfully, 
but  with  wonderful  coolness,  the  number  of  emotions  by  which  his 
mind  had  been  agitated  during  this  short  debate,  being  considered, 
"  Mr.  Van  Trump  has  nothing  to  fear  under  your  protection,"  he 
added,  and  held  out  his  hand.  "  Good  night ;  good  bye !"  poor 
Thomas  Elkhart  ended  by  saying,  somewhat  less  steadily,  and  walked 
away  from  the  woman  he  loved,  with  a  resolution  never  to  see  her 
more.  "  If  she  ever  loved  me,  as  I  once  thought,  she  certainly  does 
not  now,  and  my  presence  encumbers  her.  I  know  I  am  not  worthy 
of  her.  Who  is  ?  I  will  at  least  be  in  Italy  before  the  sacrifice  is 
complete,  and  may  never  hear  that  she  is  the  unhappy  wife  of  this 
man,"  were  the  meditations  which  went  with  our  hero  to  his  pillow 
that  night.  They  had  been  less  orderly  upon  his  first  arrival  home, 
two  hours  earlier,  or  those  bitter  tears,  which  had  forced  themselves 
between  the  fingers  of  the  hands  in  which  his  fuce  was  so  long  buried 
upon  the  bed-side,  would  not  have  been  to  chronicle.  Afterward  he 
dreamed  that  he  was  engaged  upon  a  colossal  statue  of  some  great 
personage ;  and  when  it  was  done,  lo  !  there  stood  the  exact  resem 
blance  of  Mr.  Clarence  Van  Trump,  in  marble,  even  to  his  favorite 
short  cutaway  coat  and  light  fancy  trousers.  But  when,  in  a  fit  of 
ungovernable  rage,  he  had  seized  a  mighty  sledge  to  demolish  the 
figure,  which  was,  oddly  enough,  grinning  at  him,  and  stroking  a 
finely-chiselled  mustache,  on  a  sudden  the  likeness  of  sweet  Mary 
Jones,  as  he  had  carved  her,  occupied  the  pedestal  instead  ;  then  the 
hammer,  checked  in  mid  career,  alighted  on  his  own  head,  and  he 
awoke  to  find  it  broad  day,  and  his  temples  throbbing  as  fiercely  as 


368  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

if  the  blow  had  fallen  where  he  had  dreamed.  Indeed,  a  fever  had 
set  in,  which  not  only  induced  numberless  greater  vagaries  than  that 
of  a  colossal  statue  to  Van  Trump,  during  the  succeeding  ten  days,  but 
postponed,  for  a  much  longer  time,  the  voyage  to  Italy,  which  our 
unhappy  young  friend  had  previously  arranged  should  commence  the 
next  day  but  one. 

Mr.  Clarence  Van  Trump  woke  about  the  same  hour,  but  with 
widely  different  sensations,  and,  to  argue  from  his  countenance,  none 
of  an  unpleasant  kind.  lie  had  leisurely  pursued  his  homeward  course 
undisturbed  the  previous  night,  and  had  triumphantly  brought  off  the 
little  perfumed  handkerchief,  which  had  so  nearly  proved  a  casus 
belli. 

What  could  there  have  been  in  the  retention  of  that  trifle  which 
had  caused  our  young  gentleman,  on  retiring  to  his  chamber,  to 
regard  it  with  such  complacency,  when  produced  and  laid  upon  his 
dressing-table  ?  Had  he  feared  any  opposition  to  the  laudable  pur 
pose  of  elevating  one  of  the  Joneses  to  be  a  Van  any  thing  1  None, 
certainly,  from  Mrs.  Jones  herself,  who  would  have  lost  a  finger 
rather  than  such  a  son-in-law,  and  was,  perhaps,  more  open  in  that 
respect  than  the  other  ladies  in  the  village  who  had  marriageable 
daughters,  judged  becoming.  The  old  sea-captain  in  the  India  trade, 
Mary's  uncle,  had  paid  them  a  short  visit,  too,  and  had  expressed  his 
bluff  concurrence,  but  not  until  his  sister  had  clearly  manifested  that 
Elkhart  could  never  have  thought  of  marrying  her  Mary  ;  how  could 
he,  when  he  certainly  was  not  a  lover,  and  had  not  paid  Mary  a  com 
pliment,  such  as  Mr.  Van  Trump  was  always  doing,  once  in  his  whole 
life-time,  she  believed  ?  As  for  Miss  Columbia  Simmons,  let  it  suffice 
to  know  that  she  had  already  arranged  what  dress  she  would  wear  on 
a  certain  grand  occasion,  as  likewise  during  the  first  subsequent  visit 
to  her  friend's  palatial  mansion  in  the  city. 

The  personage  chiefly  interested  in  this  pleasing  little  drama,  how 
ever,  did  not  at  first  give  in  her  acquiescence.  It  is  true,  she  rede 
and  walked  with  the  sows-hero  of  this  tale,  and  was  not  a  little  carried 
away  by  his  delightfully  fashionable  conversation.  But  was  it  not 
enough  to  flatter  Miss  Jones  into  a  passion  —  meaning  la  grande  pas 
sion  —  that  the  man  who  had  waltzed  with  and  made  love  to  Count- 


THE  LOVES  OF  MARY  JONES.  361) 

esses  and  High-Mightinesses  at  the  German  spas,  to  say  nothing  of  his 
home  position,  should  run  after  her  in  the  way  he  did  ?  Had  he  not 
given  her  flowers  ?  then  a  book  —  a  Book  of  Beauty,  of  course  —  then 
a  ring,  and  finally  a  perfumed  pink  paper  note,  an  answer  to  which 
was  to  be  conveyed  in  the  tacit  gift  of  the  handkerchief?  There 
would  have  been  no  want  of  opportunity  to  have  given  either  a 
verbal  or  written  response,  it  may  be  remarked,  in  a  more  usual  man 
ner  ;  but  the  worth  of  a  romantic  incident  with  the  more  youthful  of 
your  sex,  ladies,  was  not  unknown  to  this  young  Alcibiades.  Beside, 
he  entertained  other  views  —  views  which  I  shall  take  great  pains  to 
avoid  the  mention  of  here.  Indeed,  they  were  not  expressed  in  the 
pink  billet,  nor  even  hinted  at,  nor  were  they  directly  referred  to  in 
any  of  the  pink  perfumed  notes  which  followed  this  forerunner.  But 
in  each  and  all  there  was  thenceforward  a  more  open  avowal  of  his 
passionate  affection,  and  much  reiteration  of  the  unbounded  sacrifices 
he  would  make  for  her,  sweet  Mary  Jones's,  sake.  This,  too,  was  the 
burden  of  most  of  his  conversations.  To  do  him  justice,  he  spoke  the 
truth  here,  so  far  as  it  went.  It  has  been  incidentally  shown  in  the 
first  pages  of  this  history,  that  a  gratification  of  any  sort  would  be 
purchased  by  this  patrician  off-shoot  at  the  cost  of  the  whole  future, 
if  necessary ;  and  in  the  present  instance  he  certainly  would  not  have- 
scrupled  to  risk  the  paternal  and  avuncular  favor  and  inheritance  at 
once,  rather  than  forego  his  wishes. 

Perhaps,  though,  there  might  be  some  safer  means  for  attaining 
his  end.  If  he  were  so  disposed  to  risk  every  thing,  should  not  she 
make  some  sacrifice  ?  It  would  be  safer  to  delay  their  marriage  until, 
at  least,  his  uncle,  the  patroon,  should  have  left  him  his  heir  —  in  a 
year,  possibly,  or  at  the  end  of  a  few  months  or  weeks.  Meanwhile, 
should  greater  delay  be  required  by  after  events,  or  should  either 

weary  of  the  other But  let  us  not  record  the  musings,  held  in 

private  with  his  segar,  of  this  delightful  young  roue,  whose  moustache 
and  cane,  or  lorgnette,  we  are  always  secretly  flattered  to  see  prome 
nading,  or  at  the  opera,  with  our  sisters  and  daughters.  He  was 
crazy  with  love  at  times,  kissing  over  and  over  again  a  likeness  of 
Mary  he  had  taken  from  the  parlor  table,  and  he  was  content  to  be 
the  sacrifice  in  the  event  of  her  refusing  to  be.  On  the  whole,  it  is 


370  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

not  saying  too  much,  that  there  are  honester  and  more  honorable  men 
wearing  the  striped  uniform  of  Sing-Sing  at  the  present  day,  than  Mr. 
Clarence  was  in  heart  at  this  juncture. 

If  the  poor  child  had  fallen  into  the  snare,  who  would  have  been 
to  blame  ?  Not  you,  of  course,  most  excellent  and  moral  Mrs.  Jones ; 
nor  would  it  have  been  the  fault  of  her  education,  of  course.  Wo 
Americans  are  intolerant  of  an  hereditary  nobility,  but  consent  to 
worship  any  pretender.  We  brag  of  our  republicanism,  and  cringe 
to  self-assumed  superiority.  In  what  was  this  son  of  a  patroon  better 
than  the  son  of  a  potter  ?  and  in  how  much  and  how  immeasurably 
inferior?  Observe,  gentle  reader,  the  present  writer  is  far  from 
believing  all  men  equal ;  but  let  superiority  be  purchased  by  some 
thing  more  than  lawful  dollars  or  the  counterfeit  coin  of  assurance. 

How  could  Elkhart  contend  alone  against  this  social  ill,  or  hope  to 
uproot  it  1  While  he  stood  looking  on,  vexed  at  heart  and  conscious 
of  the  wrong,  the  love  of  the  woman  he  would  have  given  his  life  for 
was  cajoled  out  of  his  keeping.  She  had  been  flattered  into  believing 
Elkhart's  to  be  friendship,  and  Van  Trump's  true  lovo ;  how  could 
both  be  love  which  were  so  different  ?  The  descent  to  Avernus  is  so 
proverbially  easy,  that  in  the  end  who  can  say  she  may  not  have 
fallen,  as  natures  as  sweet  and  good  have  fallen  before  1  But  "  when 
the  tale  of  bricks  is  double,  Moses  comes." 

Moses  came  now  in  the  person  of  one  Miss  Keziah,  the  maiden 
aunt  who  had  kept  Elkhart's  house  for  him  since  his  falling  heir  to  it. 
She  came  straight  from  his  bedside,  from  hearing  him  raving  of  Mary 
Jones,  and  believing  him  on  the  verge  of  death.  Mrs.  Jones,  from 
some  feminine  instinct  not  easily  definable,  had  settled  it  in  her  own 
mind,  that  upon  this  especial  forenoon  young  Van  Trump  would  pro 
pose  ;  and,  taking  her  work  with  her  somewhere,  had  left  a  clear  field 
to  these  two  lovers.  There  was  no  one  else  in  the  house,  and  when 
Miss  Keziah,  with  her  cap-strings  undone,  rushed  unannounced  into 
the  parlor,  Clarence  was  down  upon  his  knees,  protesting,  imploring, 
almost  crying,  and  poor  frightened  Mary  Jones  weeping  for  very 
bewilderment  and  helplessness. 

But  Miss  Keziah  cared  for  none  of  these  things.     It  is  doubtful  if 


THE    LOVES    OF   MARY   JONES.  371 

she  even  saw. Clarence  at  all;  but  sat  upon  the  sofa,  with  her  face 
buried  in  her  apron,  and  rocked  herself  to  and  fro. 

"  Oh !  he  's  dying,  I  feel  he  is !"  she  sobbed  aloud ;  "  he  that  pro 
mised  to  be  such  a  great  man,  and  would  have  been,  I  know.  And 
all  for  love  of  you,  Mary  Jones ;  he  raves  of  nothing  but  you,  day  and 
night.  He  's  dying  for  love  of  you,  cruel,  cruel  Mary  Jones !  and 
you  will  have  his  life  to  answer  for  one  of  these  days.  Come,  come 
and  see  him  before  it  is  too  late." 

"  Dying  —  dying  for  love  of  me !"  Mary  Jones  cried,  standing  up, 
pale  and  wild,  the  tears  running  fast  down  her  cheeks. 

What  a  frightful  past  was  that  she  had  just  escaped !  It  made  her 
shudder.  Was  there  time  to  make  peace  with  the  man  she  had  so 
injured,  and  now  knew  that  she  loved  so  with  the  whole  depth  and 
strength  of  her  nature  ?  Like  Margaret,  she  breathed  one  prayer 
aloud ;  and  was  that  Faust  hurriedly  groping  for  his  hat,  and  cursing 
his  fate,  in  the  entry  1  Then  she  flung  her  arms  about  the  neck  of 
Miss  Keziah,  and  sobbed  upon  her  breast. 

"Save  me,  save  me,  O  Keziah!"  she  said,  "and  take  me  with 
you.  I  will  never  leave  his  bedside  while  he  lives,  until  he  is  my 
husband." 

Elkhart  lived  —  of  course  he  did  —  under  such  careful  nursing. 
Mrs.  Jones  plead,  and  half  the  village  held  up  their  hands,  but  Mary 
Jones  was  not  to  be  moved.  She  became  Mrs.  Elkhart  in  time,  and 
what  sweeter  face  or  better  wife  was  there  known  to  artists  in  all 
Rome  1  We  all  saw  and  admired  lately  the  greatest  work,  thus  far, 
of  Elkhart's  chisel ;  but  what  that  work  is  I  am  not  going  to  say,  for 
then  every  one  would  know  the  true  and  proper  name  of  our  sculp 
tor,  and,  perhaps,  next  Sunday  in  church,  would  be  staring  at  still 
pretty  Mrs.  Elkhart,  and,  by  inference,  condemning  young  Van 
Trump,  in  place  of  attending  to  the  Collect  for  the  day,  or  crying  — 
as  every  one  of  us  has  occasion  to  do,  not  less  than  Mr.  Clarence,  per 
haps  —  "  GOD  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner !" 


at 


BY    K.    S.    CIIILTOJf. 


"  NOTHING  in  his  life 
Became  Mm  like  the  leaving  it." 


WHAT  woe  is  this  that  hath  cast  o'er  the  land 

Such  a  shade  of  sorrow?     What  star  hath  fled 
From  the  heavens  above  us  ?  and  why  do  men  stand 

Aghast,  looking  earthward,  as  if  Earth  were  dead  ? 
Go  look  in  yon  coffin ;  the  answer  is  there. 

"Written  plain  in  that  white  and  immovable  face ; 
And  it  darkens  the  sunlight  and  thickens  the  air. 

And  robs  the  bright  world  of  its  manifold  grace. 

The  fire  is  gone  out  in  those  cavernous  eyes, 

Which  flashed  like  a  coal  at  the  blast  of  his  thought  ; 
And  those  closed  lips  will  part  nevermore,  though  the  world 

For  ages  will  ring  with  the  lessons  they  taught. 
Ay,  well  may'st  thou  mourn,  like  a  RACHEL,  to-day, 

Dear  goddess  of  Freedom,  and  weep  by  his  grave  ; 
On  thy  altar  he  laid  the  first-fruits  of  his  life ; 

To  thee  the  best  toil  of  his  manhood  he  gave. 

He  looks  not  now  as  when,  proudly  erect, 

On  the  rock  of  the  stern  old  Pilgrim  race, 
He  summoned  up  the  ghost  of  the  Past, 

And  talked  with  the  Future  face  to  face ! 
The  words  that  fell  from  Ms  lips  were  like  drops 

Of  a  thunder-cloud  —  large,  heavy,  and  clear; 
And  they  purged  men's  minds  as  the  genial  shower 

Purges  the  misty  atmosphere. 


374  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

From  the  soil  of  his  own  loved  New-England  he  sprang 

When  her  acres  were  drenched  with  the  blood  of  the  brave ; 
And  back  to  her  bosom  returning  to-day, 

With  his  honors  full-blossomed,  he  sinks  to  the  grave. 
Never  greater  than  when  (as  the  sun  of  his  life, 

Sloping  westward,  grew  large)  humbly  kissing  the  rod, 
On  the  arms  of  the  Angel  of  Faith  and  of  Hope 

He  leaned  for  support,  and  went  home  to  his  GOD. 


fefcitas  of  tbc 


BY      T .      B  .      THORPE. 


OF  all  our  Indian  tribes,  none  were  more  interesting  or  more 
rudely  destroyed  than  the  Natchez.  What  is  remembered  of  them 
is  calculated  to  make  a  deep  impression  upon  the  imagination,  and  to 
cause  regret  that  some  historian  had  not  preserved  a  truthful  history 
of  this  singular  people.  In  the  early  traditions  of  the  Mexicans,  pre 
served  to  us  in  their  hieroglyphical  paintings,  there  is  presented  the 
wonderful  spectacle  of  families  and  nations,  from  innate  impulses, 
moving  from  "the  North,"  and,  ever  restless,  wandering  over  an 
unoccupied  continent  in  search  of  homes.  It  is  evident  that  the  same 
wisdom  that  confounded  the  primitive  language  at  Babel,  and  scattered 
the  swarming  millions  of  Asia,  impelled  the  early  occupants  of  our 
continent  to  move  onward  like  advancing  waves  of  the  sea. 

In  these  strange  migrations,  some  chief  must  have  separated  from 
the  parent  multitude,  and  turned  his  face  with  his  followers  toward 
the  South-west ;  and  finally  reaching  the  delectable  lands  of  all  the 
valley  of  the  lower  Mississippi,  there  established  what  was  afterwards 
known  as  the  tribe  of  the  Natchez. 

The  country  selected  is  of  surpassing  loveliness ;  for,  from  the  pre 
cipitous  bluff  that  so  unexpectedly  frowns  down  apon  the  Mississippi, 
inland,  to  where  the  nation  erected  its  great  mound,  is  one  continuous 
undulation  of  picturesque  scenery,  originally  enriched  with  groves  of 
live  oaks  and  magnolias.  It  was  really  a  fairy  land,  and  enough  of 
the  primitive  forest  still  remains  to  give  the  sanction  of  truth  to  the 
most  florid  description  of  it  preserved  in  legendary  lore. 

There  can  not  be  a  doubt,  that  it  the  time  these  nomadics  took 


870  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

possession  of  their  adopted  homes,  that  the  surrounding  country  was 
comparatively  without  inhabitants ;  for  the  savage  and  warlike  nations 
which  lived  in  the  neighborhood  never  would  have  permitted  the  Nat 
chez,  when  in  their  infancy,  to  occupy  lands,  which  afterward  even 
they  defended  more  by  moral  than  by  physical  force. 

As  fire-worshippers,  the  Natchez  displayed  their  Oriental  origin, 
and  they  were  more  sincere  in  this  most  poetic  of  all  idolatries  than 
the  magi  of  the  East.  They  possessed  a  tradition  which,  unlike  the 
traditions  of  any  other  nation,  gallantly  ascribed  the  salvation  of  their 
race  to  a  woman.  This  was,  that  after  the  destruction  of  all  the  inha 
bitants  of  the  earth,  save  a  single  family,  which  family  was  about  to 
die  because  of  the  continued  darkness  of  the  heavens,  a  young  girl. 
inspired  with  the  wish  to  save  her  race,  threw  herself  into  the  fire  which 
was  used  as  a  light ;  and  that  no  sooner  was  her  body  consumed,  than 
,jhe  arose  in  the  East,  surrounded  with  such  surpassing  glory  that  her 
form  could  not  be  looked  upon  :  thus  enshrined,  she  became  the  chief. 
her  nearest  female  relation  being  elected  her  successor.  Hence  was 
established  the  worship  of  the  sun,  and  the  living  sacrifice  of  the  sacred 
fire,  together  with  the  belief,  that  so  long  as  it  blazed  upon  their  altars, 
the  Natchez  would  be  powerful  and  happy. 

The  Sun,  a  female  sovereign,  was  absolute  in  power.  The  rewards 
of  the  chase,  and  of  the  cultivation  of  the  soil,  were  placed  under  her 
charge,  implying,  that  they  were  the  results  of  her  genial  rays,  and 
through  her,  as  if  direct  from  the  hands  of  Providence,  they  were  dis 
tributed  among  the  people. 

The  Natchez  must  have  rapidly  increased  after  their  establishment 
on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi;  for  their  tradition  was,  that  in  the 
first  century  of  their  settlement,  they  erected  those  monuments  of 
industry  on  which  to  erect  their  temples  and  bury  their  dead,  the 
remains  of  which  are  so  much  admired  to  this  day.  Their  great  work 
was  built  upon  a  hill,  where  they  believed  fire  fell  from  the  sun,  indi 
cating  fftiat  their  wanderings  were  at  an  end.  This  series  of  mounds, 
the  most  remarkable  in  the  valley  of  the  Mississippi,  have  been  almost 
entirely  overlooked  by  the  curious  in  such  relics  of  ancient  days. 

A  natural  hillock  was  levelled  upon  the  top,  and  used  as  the  foun 
dations  of  the  mounds,  the  only  example  known.  Upon  a  base  thus 


TRADITIONS    OF    THE    NATCHEZ.  377 

prepared  was  raised  the  grand  elevation  for  the  great  temple  of  the 
Sun,  and  the  inferior  works  used  for  defence,  and  the  graves  of  the 
nobles.  In  examining  these  singular  ruins,  now  covered  with  trees  of 
a  century's  growth,  it  is  not  difficult  to  conceive  them  rising  in  their 
perfection  from  the  open  plain,  their  summits  smoking  with  sacrificial 
fires,  and  covered  with  priests  and  people.  It  was  only  upon  the 
great  mound,  and  at  the  festival  of  fruits,  that  the  Sun  showed  herself 
to  the  multitude.  Attired  in  robes  of  white  cotton,  adorned  with 
feathers,  and  her  breast  glistening  with  various  brilliant  stones,  she 
assisted  in  the  early  greeting  of  her  supposed  ancestor,  and  as  the  god 
of  day  ascended  in  the  East,  and  shot  his  bright  rays  across  the  land 
scape,  they  first  of  all  fell  upon  the  sacred  priestess,  and  were  reflected 
back  in  ten  thousand  rays,  which  were  regarded  by  the  worshippers, 
as  a  recognition  of  sympathy  and  acknowledged  relationship. 

According  to  the  belief  of  the  Natchez,  the  extinction  of  the  fires 
of  the  temple  would  be  the  signal  for  their  destruction ;  thus  having, 
it  would  seem,  with  some  other  nations  mentioned  in  history,  a  fore 
boding  of  their  extermination.  A  brief  period  before  the  French 
invaded  their  homes,  by  some  accident  this  fearful  catastrophe  hap 
pened,  and  the  nation  was  consequently  suffering  from  superstitious 
depression.  It  was  therefore  that  they  fell  a  comparatively  easy  prey 
to  the  superior  arms  and  discipline  of  the  European  invader. 

"In  their  struggle  for  existence,  after  an  obstinate  defence,  they  were 
first  driven  from  the  banks  of  the  river,  but  again  rallying,  they 
gathered  for  their  final  struggle  at  the  base  of  the  great  mound.  As 
soon  as  the  tribe  thought  themselves  sufficiently  prepared,  they  pro 
voked  attack,  and  their  last  great  battle  took  place.  The  Sun-Chief 
was  killed,  and  the  survivors,  believing  that  the  dark  prophecy  that 
rested  upon  the  Natchez  had  been  fulfilled,  as  a  crowd  of  flying  fugi 
tives  retreated  west  of  the  Mississippi,  and  after  various  misfortunes, 
were  lost,  or  became  absorbed  among  the  Oumas,  the  Tensas,  and 
other  friendly  tribes. 

The  enlightened  mind,  in  speaking  of  the  Natchez,  explains  their 
destruction  upon  philosophical  reasons.  It  was  the  weak  giving  way 
to  the  strong  ;  but  their  fate  appealed  to  more  sympathising  and  more 
imaginative  hearts,  who  have  softened  the  story  of  their  ruin,  stripped 


373  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

it  of  its  harsher  features,  and  left  it  so  interwoven  with  golden  light, 
that  we  half  forget  the  unwelcome  truth,  and  think  hopefully  of  the 
departed.  The  Southern  Indians  of  our  day,  wjien  sitting  beside  their 
"  council  fires,"  and  speaking  of  the  times  that  are  past,  tell  us : 

That  a  young  Natchez  chief,  famed  for  his  virtue  and  bravery, 
became  enamored  of  a  beautiful  maiden,  and  that  his  passion  was 
returned.  His  interviews  were  stolen  ones,  and  few  and  far  between. 
On  one  occasion,  when  the  young  chief  was  keeping  his  night-watch 
over  the  sacred  fire  of  the  temple,  he  heard  the  plaintive  song  of  a 
day-bird  ;  and  flying  to  the  neighboring  groves,  there  met  his  mistress, 
and  exchanged  the  solemn  vows  of  eternal  love.  Returning  to  the 
temple,  the  young  chief,  to  his  horror,  discovered  that  the  flame  had 
expired  in  his,  unconsciously  to  him  long  absence,  and  the  altars, 
which  had  ever  glowed  with  living  fire,  were  cold. 

Alarm  filled  the  young  warrior's  breast ;  despair  was  impressed 
upon  his  features ;  and  as  the  sun  illumined  the  hills,  and  made  the 
homes  of  the  Natchez  glisten  in  its  refreshing,  and  to  them  sacred 
radiance,  there  was  no  response  of  ascending  sacrifice,  and  the  chief 
priests  rushed  with  precipitation  to  the  temple,  to  learn  the  cause. 

Terrible  indeed  were  the  wailings  that  ascended  from  the  soul- 
stricken  worshippers.  It  was  deemed  that  a  curse  had  fallen  upon  the 
nation ;  that  its  speedy  extinction  was  shadowed  forth ;  and  amidst 
the  excitement,  by  order  of  the  great  Sun,  the  young  maiden  was  sacri 
ficed,  not  only  as  a  propitiation,  but  that  her  surpassing  beauty  should 
no  longer  tempt  the  guardians  of  the  sacred  altars  to  neglect  their 
vigils. 

The  young  chief  was  doomed  to  make  expiation  in  fastings  and 
prayers ;  and  after  due  ceremonies,  he  was  imprisoned  in  the  centre 
of  the  great  mound,  there  to  remain  until  he  wooed  back  the  lost  fire 
from  heaven.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  essayed  the  comparatively  easy 
task  of  lighting  the  proper  combustibles  by  rapid  friction.  Over 
whelmed  by  religious  fear,  his  strength  of  arm  appeared  to  have 
departed ;  and  even  when,  from  long  and  patient  labor,  the  fire  was 
about  to  descend,  a  tear  of  regret  for  the  memory  of  his  mistress  would 
fall  upon  the  just-igniting  wood,  and  leave  his  interminable  task  to  be 
again  renewed. 


TRADITIONS    OF    THE    NATCHEZ.  370 

Although  years,  yea,  centuries,  have  passed  away ;  although  the 
entrance  to  the  great  mound  has  crumbled  undistinguishably  into  the 
surrounding  mass,  and  huge  trees  have  usurped  the  places  of  the 
ascents  and  the  altars,  yet  the  old  Indians,  in  their  day-dreams,  visit 
the  young  chief,  who  is  still  in  the  centre  of  the  mound,  perseveringly 
engaged  in  his  labor  —  and  confidently  assert,  that  when  he  recovers 
the  sacred  fire,  he  will  again  appear  at  the  altar,  and  that  the  Natchez, 
in  all  their  former  glory,  will  take  possession  of  their  now  desolated 
homes. 


BRANCACCI     CHAPEL,     FLORENCE. 


BT     JA.ME3     KUSSELL     LOWELL, 


HE  came  to  Florence  long  ago, 

And  painted  here  these  walls,  which  shone 

For  RAPHAEL  and  for  ANGELO 

With  secrets  deeper  than  his  own  ; 

Then  shrank  into  the  dark  again, 

And  died,  we  know  not  how  or  when. 

The  shadows  deepened,  and  I  turned 
Half-sadly  from  tho  fresco  grand ; 
And  is  this,  mused  I,  all  ye  earned, 
High-vaunted  brain  and  cunning  hand, 
That  we  who  wonder  here  should  know 
This  single  word  —  MASACCIO  ? 

And  who  were  they,  I  mused,  that  wrought 
Through  pathless  wilds,  through  hate  and  wrong, 
The  highways  of  our  daily  thought  ? 
"Who  built  those  towers  of  eldest  song 
That  lift  us  o'er  the  world  to  peace, 
K  emote,  'mid  starry  silences  ? 

Out  clanged  the  Ave-MARY  bells, 
And  to  my  heart  this  message  came: 
Each  clamorous  throat  among  us  tells 
"What  strong-souled  martyrs  died  in  flame 
To  make  it  possible  that  thou 
Shouldst  here  with  brother-shiners  bow. 


382  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

:<  Thoughts  that  great  hearts  once  brake  for,  yo 
Breathe  painless  now  as  common  air ; 
The  dust  ye  trample  heedlessly 
Is  that -of  saints  and  heroes  rare 
TVho  perished,  opening  for  their  race 
Paths  now  so  tame  and  common-place." 

Henceforth,  when  rings  the  health  to  those 

"\Ylio  live  hi  story  and  in  song, 

0  nameless  dead,  that  now  repose 

Safe  in  Oblivion's  chambers  strong, 

( )ne  cup  of  recognition  true 

Shall  silently  be  drained  to  you! 


r 


San-giRl  of  galls. 


BY     KICHARD     B.     KIMBALL. 


OUR  young  traveller  —  we  have  no  means  of  ascertaining  his 
name,  or  who  he  was,  possibly  the  author  of  "Views  Afoot"  —  had 
safely  crossed  the  last  torrent,  which,  the  bridge  having  been  swept 
away  a  few  days  previous,  was  even  now  not  altogether  free  from 
danger.  He  had  passed  the  boundary  of  the  Valais,  and,  in  fact, 
stood  upon  the  soil  of  Italy.  To  be  sure,  he  did  not  at  once  behold 
the  deep  blue  of  the  sky,  nor  breathe  the  mild  atmosphere,  nor  wit 
ness  the  exuberance  of  foliage  and  of  flower,  which  belong  under  an 
Italian  sun.  Nevertheless,  the  presence  of  the  luxuriant  chestnut,  the 
softer  green  of  the  grass,  and  the  frequent  appearance  of  the  vine 
itself,  proved  to  our  pedestrian,  as  he  entered  the  little  village  of  Isella, 
that  he  was  fast  bidding  adieu  to  the  desolate  majesty  of  the  moun 
tain,  and  would  soon  enjoy  a  prospect  of  the  loveliness  of  the  plain. 

There  was  nothing  inviting  about  the  place  which  the  youth  had 
reached,  save  its  romantic  situation.  At  the  present  time  it  was  filled 
with  travellers  in  great  variety,  who  had  been  detained  by  the  over 
flowing  of  the  "gallery"  beyond,  which  rendered  an  advance  impos 
sible.  The  sole  house  of  entertainment  was  a  miserable  and  dirty 
inn,  now  literally  without  provisions,  if  we  may  except  a  quantity  of 
onions  and  some  fat  bacon.  It  could,  of  course,  afford  no  accommo 
dation  for  the  hourly  increasing  additions  to  the  company.  The  only 
building  of  decent  appearance  was  the  custom-house ;  for  Isella,  being 
the  frontier  town  and  on  the  Simplon  route,  the  number  of  travellers 
was  large  at  certain  seasons,  and  at  this  spot  every  species  of  luggage 
underwent  a  close  examination.  Finding  he  could  obtain  nothing 


384  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

whatever  at  the  tavern,  the  youth,  without  delaying  to  exchange  cour 
tesies  with  any  of  his  fellow  voyageurs  whom  he  encountered  there, 
turned  suddenly  away,  and  with  the  promptness  and  alacrity  of  an  old 
soldier,  entered  one  of  the  meanly-built  cottages  which  compose  the 
town,  and  soon  procured  half  a  loaf  of  black  bread,  some  very  poor 
cheese,  and  a  bottle  of  wine,  so  exceeding  sour  that,  thirsty  as  he 
was,  it  was  not  till  he  had  been  nearly  choked  by  the  coarse  crumbs 
he  could  bring  himself  to  swallow  it.  He  left  the  hut,  making  a 
series  of  wry  faces,  but,  after  all,  feeling  much  refreshed  and  quite 
ready  for  adventure.  The  "gallery"  was  still  filled  with  water;  yet 
to  a  pedestrian,  this  might  not  prove  an  insurmountable  obstacle ;  so 
he  resolved,  after  reclaiming  his  knapsack  at  the  custom-house,  and 
with  another  glance  at  the  surrounding  scenery,  to  hasten  on  his  way. 
Who  will  blame  our  hero  ?  What  to  him  —  young,  eager,  and  enthu 
siastic —  was  the  crowd  which  pressed  around  the  inn1?  What  to 
him  was  the  look  of  interest  displayed  by  many  a  fair  girl,  as  he 
passed,  this  way  and  that,  unconscious  1  He  was  entering  Italy  for 
the  first  time.  But  he  did  not  hasten  on  his  way;  he  staid  more 
than  one  good  hour  at  this  unpromising,  wretched  place.  Notwith 
standing  the  sun  began  to  decline,  and  kept  sinking  and  sinking 
toward  the  west,  still  he  remained  quietly  on  the  same  spot  where  he 
stopped  —  as  he  thought  but  for  a  moment  — just  after  leaving  the 
officers  of  the  customs,  with  his  knapsack  in  his  hand. 

It  was  before  a  sun-dial :  a  dial  not  remarkable  in  its  appearance, 
an  ordinary  dial,  but  having  some  letters  engraved  on  it,  which 
attracted  his  attention,  and  he  paused  to  read  them.  The  lines  made 
such  an  impression  on  him  that  he  put  down  his  knapsack,  drew  out 
his  memorandum-book,  and  seated  himself  a  few  steps  aside  to  copy 
the  inscription.  It  was  as  follows  : 

"TORN  A  tornando  il  sol,  1'ombra  smarritta; 
Ma  non  piu  retorna  1'cta  fuggita." 

The  vanished  shadow  returns  when  returns  the  sun; 
But  fugitive  Life  returns  never  again. 


THE    SUN-DIAL    OF    ISELLA.  385 

WHILE  the  youth  sat  for  a  moment,  engrossed  with  reflections 
which  the  words  suggested,  two  persons  approached  the  dial,  and 
stopped  before  it.  They  were  husband  and  wife,  refined  in  appear 
ance,  and  considerably  past  the  prime  of  life.  They  stood  quite  still 
for  two  or  three  minutes,  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  inscription.  The 
woman  was  the  first  to  speak.  Turning  her  face  full  on  her  husband, 
though  still  retaining  his  arm,  she  exclaimed :  "  Now  I  know  why  you 
left  the  young  people  at  Martigny  to  follow  us  in  the  morning ;  I 
have  not  forgotten  this  spot ;  I  have  not  forgotten  that  thirty  years 
ago  this  day"  —  and  tears  started  to  her  eyes  as  she  spoke — "you  and 
I  were  here,  in  this  very  place,  reading  these  same  lines :  impulsive, 
vivacious,  and  very  happy ;  we  were  just  married ;  these  lines  struck 
me  as  full  of  sentiment,  but  it  never  occurred  to  me  that  they  con 
veyed  a  moral  lesson,  for  a  moral  lesson  just  then  seemed  quite  out 
of  place.  So  I  thought,  at  least,  when,  with  serious,  almost  solemn, 
look,  you  said  to  me,  '  No,  it  returns  no  more  again !  Let  us  live  so 
that  we  shall  never  have  one  regret  that  it  does  not  return ;  let  us 
live  so  that,  growing  wiser  and  happier  each  day,  to  go  back  to  yes 
terday  would  only  be  a  lessening  of  our  joys.'  But  I  did  not  forget 
what  you  said,  Walter,"  she  added,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"  You  did  not,  Maude,"  replied  her  husband  gently ;  "  and  here 
we  stand,  before  this  mute  monitor,  to  thank  GOD  that  we  did  not 
pass  it  unheeded.  Thirty  years  seem  compressed  into  a  day,"  he  con 
tinued  in  a  less  serious  tone ;  "  indeed  I  do  not  feel  one  hour  older." 

"  Neither  do  I,"  responded  the  wife ;  "  and  as  for  you,  your  heart 
positively  seems  younger  than  on  the  morning  you  spoke  so  seriously." 
There  was  an  interchange  of  affectionate  looks,  when  she  said  to  him, 
"And  yet,  Walter,  how  insensibly  events  steal  upon  us !  What  agency 
is  at  work,  unseen,  unfelt,  and  unperceived,  till  we  are  taken  by  sur 
prise  by  what  is  accomplished  ?  Do  you  not  think" 


"  HOLLOA,  there !   is  there  any  thing  worth  seeing  up  yonder  ?" 
echoed  from  a  coarse  voice  below,  so  startlingly  that  our  youth  lost 
the  remainder  of  the  sentence.     At  the  same  moment,  from  another 
25 


386  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

direction,  appeared  a  party  of  young  fellows,  evidently  students ;  and 
the  lovers  walked  quietly  away. 

The  young  men  came  up  in  great  glee.  One  read  the  inscription 
aloud,  two  or  three  gesticulating  vigorously  to  his  emphasis.  Vocife 
rous  plaudits  followed  the  performance.  "  Bravo  !"  cried  one,  "  those 

lines  are  worthy  of  the  old  'Many-Sided'  himself;  not  unlike" 

"  Our  subject,  gentlemen,  is  Time"  broke  in  another  with  an  oratori 
cal  tone ;  "  a  very  important  one,  when  you  consider  how  long  we 
may  be  kept  here,  subjected  to  such  entertainment  as  is  served  up  for 
us  at  the  Inferno  over  the  way.  Nevertheless  it  is  my  duty  to  cau 
tion  you.  Beware  of  impatience.  Do  well  and  wait.  Let  it  be 
your  consolation  that  time  flies  swiftly ;  for  what  says  Horatius  Flac- 
doil 

"  '  Eheu,  fugaces,  Posthume,  Posthume,  Idbuntur  anni ! ' 

'  To-morrow  will  be  one  day  after  to-day, 

and 
One  more  day  carries  us  a  day  farther  on.' 

That  shall  be  the  inscription  on  my  sun-dial,  when  I  erect  one.  But 
I  am  growing  tedious ;  I  perceive  it  myself;  I  beg  pardon  for  inter 
rupting  some  body,  who  was  about  to  say  something.  Pray,  proceed.'' 
"  Good  people,"  harangued  another  of  the  group,  mounting  a  large 
stone  for  a  rostrum,  "  permit  me  to  arouse  you  to  a  sense  of  your 
unhappy  condition.  You  are  neglecters  of  the  present ;  while  you 
spend  your  precious  moments  here,  Alfieri  Fieralfi  is  cooking  his 
last  onion.  Carpe  diem.  You  doubt,  you  gainsay,  you  deny  abso 
lutely,  you  don't  budge,  one  of  you,  after  that  onion.  You  are 
thinking  of  Godot's  soups  and  Stein's  fricandeaus.  What  a  mistake ! 
what  a  fatal  error !  Listen  to  me.  Look  not  behind ;  the  past  is 
monumental  salt ;  i  a  living  dog  is  better  than  a  dead  lion  ;'  so  the  pre 
sent  living  and  breathing  onion  is  worth  more  than  a  kitchen-full  of 
have-beens,  whether  roasted,  stewed,  or  fried !  All  which  Master 
Schiller  (catching  the  thought  from  me)  indifferently  well  paraphrases 
as  follows : 

"  'FRIENDS,  fairer  times  have  been, 

"Who  can  deny,  than  we  ourselves  have  seen, 


THE    SUN-DIAL    OF    ISELLA.  387 

And  an  old  race  of  more  majestic  worth  ? 
"Were  History  silent  on  the  Past,  in  sooth, 
A  thousand  stones  would  witness  of  the  truth, 
Which  men  disbury  from  the  womb  of  earth. 
But  yet  that  race,  if  more  endowed  than  ours, 
Is  past !     No  joy  to  death  can  glory  give ; 
But  we,  we  are,  to  us  the  breathing  hours ; 
They  have  the  best  who  live !'  " 

Immense  applause  succeeded  the  recitative,  and  with  a  general 
shout  of 

"  Huzza  for  the  omnipotent  Now !" 

the  party  went  frolicking  on  their  way. 


THESE  had  scarcely  left  before  another  company  appeared,  com 
posed  of  tourists,  who  had  evidently  made  each  other's  acquaintance 
en  route,  and  their  plans  coinciding,  were  going  on  together.  There 
was  a  handsome  girl  among  them,  with  a  stylish  figure,  black 
hair,  and  dark  eyes,  who  was  particularly  demonstrative  in  praise 
of  the  inscription. 

"  Italian !"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  we  are  really,  then,  in  Italy  —  in 
Italy !" 

"  You  are,  Mademoiselle,"  said  a  young  man,  with  as  much  ad 
miration  in  his  look  as  he  dared  to  manifest ;  "  this  is  the  frontier." 

"  Indeed !  oh  !  how  happy  I  am !  in  Italy  at  last !  My  dreams 
so  soon  to  be  realized !  I  can  scarcely  contain  myself  with  delight ! 
And  these  lines  :  I  must  have  a  new  title  in  my  common-place  book  ; 
here  it  is  ;  your  pencil  a  moment :  Sun-Dial"  < —  and  the  inscription 
was  copied.  "  How  admirable  !  how  appropriate !  '  Time,  the  run 
away.'  Ah !  yes !  he  is  a  runaway ;  and  how  he  keeps  us  chasing 
after  him !" 

While  the  fair  one,  in  the  exuberance  of  life  and  health,  was 
giving  play  to  her  elastic  spirits,  a  young  girl,  very  pale,  with  hollow 
cheeks,  attenuated  form,  and  weak  step,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 


388  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

her  father,  came  up  and  stood  behind  the  group  —  a  victim  of  con 
sumption  doubtless,  on  her  way  to  a  more  genial  climate,  and  —  a 
grave.  The  eye  of  the  invalid  rested  on  the  dial.  Word  by  word 
she  seemed  to  take  in  what  was  written.  She  did  not  speak,  but 
with  a  gentle  sigh,  and  a  look  mournful  yet  placid,  she  turned  aside, 
and  parent  and  child  proceeded. 

Meanwhile  the  other  young  lady  was  running  on  as  vivaciously  as 
ever. 

"  Well,"  she  continued,  "  now  that  I  have  one  inscription,  I  wish 
I  could  find  another." 

"Allow  me  to  furnish  one,"  said  the  young  man  before  named; 
"  I  took  it  from  the  dial  at  Ununa : 


'  VULXERANT  omnes,  ultima  necat' 
All  wound,  the  last  slays." 


He  pronounced  these  words  in  a  tone  so  pointed  that  the  hand 
some  girl,  although  evidently  used  to  compliment,  blushed,  and  asked, 
hastily,  "  Where  is  Ununa  ?  My  geography  at  this  instant  fails  me." 

"  It  is  on  the  Spanish  frontier,"  replied  the  other. 

"  You  have  been  in  Spain,  then  f  said  the  handsome  girl,  fixing 
her  eyes  on  her  admirer  with  a  glance  of  deeper  interest  than  she  had 
hitherto  manifested.  "  Oh !  how  I  want  to  go  to  Spain !  I  must  go  to 

Spain,  before  we  return  —  the  country  of" The  company  were 

walking  on,  and  the  rest  of  the  conversation  was  lost. 


"  WHAT  can  it  be  yon  party  were  gazing  at  *?"  said  one  of  two 
very  solemn  personages  who  now  drew  near,  in  charge  of  a  courier. 

"A  sun-dial,  Messieurs  —  a  very  famous  one  —  erected  by  Charles 
the  Great  when  he  conquered  the  Alps ;  to  show,  as  you  perceive, 
the  hour  of  the  day,  and  also  to  indicate  when  the  weather  is  cloudy." 

"  Indeed !  is  it  possible  1  You  will  please  render  the  lines  for 
us?" 

"  With  pleasure,  Messieurs ;  very  famous  lines  they  are  —  written 


THE    SUN-DIAL    OF    ISELLA.  389 

by  the  poet  Alpheus.     It's  Italian  —  Italian,  Messieurs."     And  the 
courier  proceeded  to  translate  them  thus : 

"  WHEN  you  see  the  sun,  you  see  the  shadow ; 
But  Time  goes  along,  and  no  body  is  the  wiser !" 

"  Exceedingly  impressive,"  said  one  of  the  solemn  faces. 
"  Exceedingly,"  echoed  the  other. 


AT  this  moment  the  president  of  the Bank  in street,  a 

little  in  advance  of  his  family,  to  show  his  leading  position,  reached 
the  spot. 

"  Strange,"  he  exclaimed,  "  that  in  these  old  countries  they  should 
have  introduced  so  few  modern  improvements !"  Turning  to  his 
daughter,  he  demanded  "  The  English  of  those  words  f  It  was  given 
pretty  correctly,  for  the  young  lady  had  "attended"  to  the  modern 
languages. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  the  bank  president,  "  this  is  absolutely  untrue. 
Any  body  knows  that  the  sun  comes  round  every  day  ;  and  any  body 
ought  to  know,  too,  that  in  cloudy  weather  the  shadow  do  n't  come. 
Ridiculous!  Preposterous!  All  stuff!  This  machine  may  do  well 
enough  here,  but  I  hardly  think  it  would  answer  for  a  rainy  day 
at  the  bank.  Our  notary  would  not  know  when  to  protest." 

"  But,  father,"  said  the  daughter,  timidly,  "  how  do  we  ascertain 
when  we  have  the  true  time  except  by  the  sun  1  and  how  else  can 
we  correct  our  time  ?" 

"  Child !"  replied  the  financier,  in  an  authoritative  tone,  "  I  am 
astonished  at  this  display  of  your  ignorance  after  such  an  education 
as  you  have  received.  How  do  we  correct  our  time'?  By  the 

chronometer,  to  be  sure  !"  And  the  president  of  the Bank  in 

street  strode  on. 


THE  next  comer  was  a  pragmatical  old  gentleman,  having  in  his 
charge,  as  pupils,  two  young  scions,  who  appeared  particularly  to  dis- 


390  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

relish  the  restraint  which  their  senior  attempted  to  impose,  and  the 
instruction  with  which  he  was  continually  endeavoring  to  cram  them. 
"  Ha  !  a  sun-dial,"  said  the  old  fellow  ;  "  an  excellent  opportunity 
for  investigating  the  subject  of  dials !    They  are  of  great  antiquity  — 
very  great  antiquity.     The  first  we  have  any  account  of  is  the  dial 
of  Ahaz,  of  which  we  read  in  the  Second  of  Kings,  and  on  which  the 
shadow  went  ten  degrees  backward,  as  a  sign  to  King  Hezekiah  ;  and 
in  this  connection  I  deem  it  proper  to  observe  that  the  miracle  was 
probably  effected  by  means  of  refraction,  performed  on  the  atmo 
sphere  by  the  agency  of  clouds  or  vapors  rather  than  by  an  inter 
ruption  of  the  course  of  the  earth  or  any  of  the  heavenly  bodies. 
I  will  remark  about  the  dial,  first,  as  to  its  antiquity.     Ahaz  began 
his  reign  just  four  hundred  years  before  Alexander,  and  twelve  after 
the  foundation  of  Rome.    How  long  the  dial  was  in  use  before  the  time 
of  Ahaz,  we  know  not ;  without  doubt  a  considerable  period.     Some 
writers  insist  that  Anaximenes,  the  Milesian,  four  hundred  years  be 
fore  CHRIST,  was  the  first  who  made  a  sun-dial.     Others  bestow  this 
honor  on  his  countryman,  Thales,  who   lived   two   hundred  years 
earlier.    I  will  not  now  speak  of  Aristarchus,  nor  of  Papyrius  Cursor, 
and  others  named  in  history  as  having  made  dials ;  for  the  moderns 
have  brought  dialling  to  much  greater  perfection.    Opportunity,  how 
ever,  is  wanting,  else  I  would  give  you  a  lecture  on  this  rigidly 
mathematical   science.     Nevertheless,  if   you   will    lend  me   your 
crayon,  I  will  teach  you  how  to  construct  the  common  dial,  referring 
you,  at  the  same  time,  for  more  special  scientific  information,  to  the 
works  of  Rivard,  De  Parcieux,  Dom.  Bedos  de  Celles,  Joseph  Blaise 
Gamier,  Gravesande,  Emerson,  Martin,  and  Leadbeater.     Now  for  a 

gnomonic  figure.     Let  A,  B,  C  represent" 

"  Tom  !  I  say,  Tom !  what  the  deuce  are  you  loitering  there  for  ? 
We  are  having  lots  of  fun  up  this  way." 

Whereat  the  two  youths,  in  the  most  abrupt  manner,  took  to 
their  heels,  leaving  pencil  and  paper  in  the  hand  of  the  astonished 
preceptor,  who,  slowly  shaking  his  head,  but  without  a  word  of  com 
ment,  walked  reluctantly  forward. 


THE    SUN-DIAL    OF    ISELLA.  391 

ALMOST  immediately  after,  the  author  of passed  the  spot. 

His  person  was  known  to  our  youth,  who  watched  the  movements 
of  the  man  of  celebrity  with  considerable  interest.  A  glance  was 
given  at  the  dial,  the  lines  were  rapidly  transferred  to  his  note-book, 
while  he  muttered,  half  aloud,  "A  good  motto  for  the  heading  of  a 
chapter.  It  may  do  for  an  article.  Strange,  often  as  I  have  been 
here,  this  should  have  escaped  me."  It  seemed  to  our  young  traveller, 
as  the  author  walked  away,  as  if  his  heart  had  been  taken  out,  and  an 
artificial  one  put  in  its  place. 


A  SOLITARY  and  sad-looking  figure  paused  before  the  dial,  and 
raising  his  eyes  to  heaven,  said  something  about  "a  day's  march 
nearer  home,"  and  pursued  his  course. 


THE  young  pedestrian  fell  into  a  reverie.  "  It  is  even  so,"  he  said 
to  himself;  "  the  world  is  a  mirror  which  reflects  one's  own  thoughts, 
and  feelings,  and  hopes,  and  fears,  and  character,  and  disposition. 
Hence  the  great  truth :  '  Seek  and  ye  shall  find.'  No  matter  what 
one  seeks,  a  supply  always  follows  the  demand." 

The  youth  was  startled  from  his  day-dream  by  the  vigorous  and 
healthful  voice  of  a  man,  in  the  prime  of  life,  who,  with  a  companion, 
had  approached  the  dial  unobserved,  and  was  in  his  turn  reading  the 
inscription. 

"  Very  neat,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  the  Italians  have  a  most  delicate 
way  of  expressing  a  sentiment ;  but  after  all,  this  does  not  compare 
with  our  straightforward  and  forcible  English  proverb : 

"  '  TIME  and  tide  wait  for  no  man !'  " 

So  it  seems,  thought  the  youth ;  for,  starting  hastily  to  his  feet, 
he  threw  his  knapsack  over  his  shoulder,  and  was  presently  hid  from 
sight  by  an  abrupt  bend  in  the  road  just  below  the  village. 


BY    PAKK    BENJAMIN. 


IT  was  the  month,  the  saddest  one 

Of  all  the  varied  year ; 
The  slant  beams  of  the  setting  sun 
Touched  the  long  vapors,  thick  and  dun, 

Like  hope  that  brightens  fear. 
And  far  and  near,  with  dash  and  moan, 
The  waves,  like  prisoners,  dungeon-pent, 

Beat  on  the  rocky  bars ; 
When  forth  upon  my  voyage  I  went, 
Companioned,  yet  alone ! 

Friends  made  I  of  the  stars ; 
For,  ere  the  day  had  slowly  rolled, 
The  mists  were  all  bedecked  with  gold, 

And  when  dark  shadows  grew, 
Those  lustrous  children  of  the  Night 
Looked  with  their  tender  eyes  of  light 

Serenely  from  the  blue. 
I  was  no  sage  astrologer, 
Yet  in  their  pure  and  brilliant  lore, 
"Without  one  cloud  the  page  to  blur, 

As  gently,  smoothly,  softly  o'er 
Now  sparkling  waves  our  vessel  flowed, 

Could  I  a  radiant  story  see 

Of  that  not  far  futurity, 
That  longed-for,  sighed-for,  dear  abode, 
From  which,  forlorn,  I  had  departed, 

To  drink  awhile  the  healing  airs, 
To  taste  the  effluence,  which  imparted, 

In  answer  to  unfaltering  prayers. 


394 


KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Joy  to  the  storm-tost  mariner, 

"When,  dimly  far,  COLUMBUS  spied 
The  blue  line  of  San  Salvador 

Lift  o'er  the  golden  tide ! 
Yes,  hopes  and  wishes  fell  like  rays 
Upon  me  from  that  starry  blaze  ; 
And  well  I  knew  that  I  should  turn 

Safely  my  homeward  prow  once  more, 
And  once  more  view  their  glory  burn, 

Silvering  the  billows  toward  the  shore 
Of  Northern  climes,  to  which  my  soul 

Still  pointed  with  magnetic  power ; 

Though  soft  the  scene  and  fair  the  hour, 
And  though  the  billows'  murmuring  roll 
Lulled  every  sense  in  deep  repose, 
And  winds,  that  seemed  to  waft  the  rose, 

Came  to  me  through  the  Tropic  night, 

Suggesting  visions  of  delight, 

And  rapturous  dreams  of  beauty  bright, 
In  Southern  chambers,  never  known 
To  dwellers  in  the  Temperate  zone. 

And  so  we  sailed  —  on  —  on  —  while  smiles 

Dimpled  each  billow's  azure  cheek, 
And  then  we  hailed  those  happy  isles 

That  Nature's  fond  enthusiasts  seek, 
Because  perpetual  Summer  dwells 
In  all  their  flower-besprinkled  dells, 
And  lifts  his  banners  green  above 

Their  hills  and  woods,  and  hangs  his  wreaths 
In  all  their  bowers  —  where  lasting  love 

The  incense  of  fruition  breathes. 

It  is,  in  truth,  a  fairy  clime, 
"With  all  its  beauty  spared  by  Time. 
Though  Cultivation  o'er  the  land 
Hath  sown  its  seeds  with  liberal  hand; 
Though,  in  the  lapse  of  many  a  year 
The  Spirit  of  the  Storm  appear, 
And  hurl  destruction  far  and  near, 
So  rapidly  is  life  regained 


A    TROPICAL    VOYAGE.  395 

By  tree  and  herbage,  that  the  field 
Where  the  swift  deluge  fiercest  rained, 

"Will  all  its  vegetation  yield, 
With  more  luxuriance  than  the  first 
New  morn  the  faithful  soil  was  nursed. 

Long  graceful  lines  of  coast  were  seen, 
Fringed  with  the  deepest  tints  of  green ; 
The  waves  ran  up  and  kissed  the  shore, 

As  if  inspired  with  child-like  glee, 
Then,  laughing  at  the  robbery,  bore 

Leaves,  buds,  and  blossoms  out  to  sea. 
It  was  a  heartfelt  joy  to  hear 

Their  merry  voices ;  to  behold 
Gleaming  upon  their  foreheads  clear, 

Circlets  of  silver,  wreaths  of  gold ; 
To  deem  them  living  creatures,  blest 

With  the  soft  airs  and  genial  glow 
Of  this  Elysium  of  the  West, 

Unchanging  ever  in  their  flow, 
Save  with  the  changes  of  their  queen  — 

The  Moon  —  subdued  by  whose  sweet  face, 
They  rolled  away  and  left  between 

Their  boundary  and  the  shore  a  space  — 
A  glittering  belt  of  sand  and  shells, 
Tossed  from  the  ocean's  treasure-cells. 

Alas !  how  many  years  I  Ve  told 

On  my  life's  rosary,  since  the  time, 

When,  jingling  little  bells  of  rhyme, 
I  voyaged  to  shun  the  mist  and  cold 
Of  Winter  in  a  Northern  town ; 
I  voyaged  to  lands  of  small  renown  — 
Lands  where  no  war  was  ever  waged, 
Where  none  but  lovers  were  engaged ; 
Where  old  Association  finds 
No  records  of  illustrious  minds  ; 
No  ruined  temple,  broken  bust, 
Nor  urn  nor  venerated  dust ; 
But  where,  a  Matron-Bride  arrayed 
In  all  the  pomp  of  light  and  shade, 


396 


KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

In  flowers  that  blush  in  earth,  in  air, 
In  fruitage,  luscious,  rich  and  rare, 
Sits  Nature  with  her  belt  unbound, 
Garments  loose-flowing  to  the  ground, 
Looks,  gesture,  motion  warm  and  free, 
And  all  the  charms  of  liberty. 


Satanic  in 


BY      SAMUEL     S.    COX. 


IT  is  an  anachronism  to  date  the  connection  of  "  OLD  KNICK"  with 
literature  from  the  establishment  of  the  Magazine,  which  is  thus  play 
fully  personified  by  its  familiar  readers.  Long  before  the  brothers 
Clark  rescued  "  Old  Knick"  from  his  bad  fame,  and  gave  him  credit 
and  character,  there  were  intimate  relations  existing  between  the 
genius  of  type  and  the  genius  of  "  Knick." 

Our  votive  offering  upon  the  shrine  where  so  many  flowers,  so 
much  fruitage,  and  such  grateful  incense  has  been  so  often  offered 
before,  and  malgre  the  terrors  of  the  name,  offered  by  such  good  and 
genial  souls,  shall  be  an  examination  into  this  relationship  between 
the  aforesaid  genii.  Before  we  have  finished  our  analysis,  it  will  be 
found  that  "  Old  Knick"  has  had  more  to  do  with  human  literature 
than  we  are  apt  to  imagine,  and  that  without  him  much  of  its  mirth 
and  more  of  its  tragedy  would  be  wanting. 

If  we  are  to  believe  the  authentic  records  of  the  past,  we  shall  find 
him,  in  the  earliest  times,  inaugurating  the  typographical  art.  "  He 
is  in  league  with  the  devil,"  said  the  learned  Sorbonne  at  Paris,  of 
Dr.  Faust,  who  had,  under  pretence  of  copying  the  Bible,  sold  the 
first  printed  edition  to  the  Parisians  at  sixty  crowns  a  volume ;  while 
those  "  slow  coaches,"  the  clerks,  sold  manuscript  copies  at  five  hun 
dred  !  And  the  astonished  professors,  not  dreaming  of  printing,  and 
not  considering  the  inconsistency  of  the  devil  becoming  a  pioneer  col 
porteur,  examined  the  quickly-produced  copies,  all  minutely  alike,  and 
declared,  "  Surely  the  devil  is  in  this  marvellous  matter !"  And  when 
Faust  lowered  his  price,  and  multiplied  his  volumes,  and  as  his  red 


398 


KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 


ink  was  observed  to  be  peculiarly  sanguine,  they  thought  it  best  to 
inform  the  magistrate  against  him,  as  a  magician,  who,  with  his  own 
blood,  and  by  Satanic  help,  had  multiplied  Bibles  beyond  the  power 
of  human  handicraft.  And  the  magistrate,  with  the  profundity  of 
Justice  Shallow,  found  that  he  wras  in  league  with  the  devil,  and 
ordered  that  he  be  made  a  public  bonfire.  Faust  saved  himself  by 
revealing  his  art  to  the  Parisian  parliament.  The  decision  of  Justice 
Shallow  was  not  wholly  in  error.  There  is  much  beside  his  judgment 
to  confirm  the  tradition.  At  this  day  there  is  none  to  deny  that  the 
devil  has  much  to  do  with  printed  thought ;  if  not  with  its  form  and 
type,  certainly  with  its  essence  and  spirit. 

This  must  be  so  necessarily.  So  long  as  the  drama  of  life  alter 
nates  between  good  and  evil,  will  the  devil  be  a  star  among  the 
actors.  Being  the  principle  of  evil,  he  will  have  more  or  less  to  do 
with  human  nature,  until  that  principle  loses  its  place  in  the  heart  and 
its  power  over  the  head.  It  is  a  restless  principle ;  ever  busy  at  the 
loom  of  life,  weaving  into  the  tissue  its  sombre  strands,  and  unrolling 
to  the  gaze  its  fantastic  figures,  which  in  letters  become  the  mirror  of 
human  vicissitude. 

As  our  imperfect  nature  has  no  exemption  from  its  temptations, 
so  every  department  of  literature  bears  evidence  of  its  influence.  Is 
it  the  lyric  gush  ?  The  principle  of  evil  sparkles  in  the  ruby  wine, 
and  melts  with  the  amorous  eye.  Is  it  the  stately  drama  ?  It  plays 
the  prompter,  and  puts  on  the  mask.  Is  it  the  grandeur  of  the  epic  ? 
It  gives  unity  to  the  action,  of  which  it  is  the  hero ! 

To  analyze  this  element,  it  may  be  necessary  — 

First,  to  define  what  is  meant  by  the  Satanic  element ; 

Secondly,  to  trace  it  to  its  source  and  display  its  greatest  exam 
ples  in  literature ; 

And  lastly,  to  discuss  the  good  taste  of  their  appearance  in  so 
notorious  a  form. 

I.  It  is  hardly  necessary  that  I  should  give  a  formal  introduction 
to  a  personage  so  well  known  as  the  subject  of  my  paper.  Most  of 
my  readers  are  acquainted  with  him,  at  least  by  reputation.  It  may 
not  be  necessary  to  search  books  to  define  him.  He  can  be  found 


THE    SATANIC    IN    LITERATURE.  399 

when  and  where  you  are  disposed  to  look  for  him.  Paracelsus  stiffly 
maintains  that  the  air  in  summer  is  not  so  full  of  flies  as  it  is  with  his 
presence.  The  odium  which  hangs  most  heavily  upon  him  is  the 
odium  theologicum.  We  do  not  propose  to  take  this  view  of  him, 
except  so  far  as  it  may  throw  light  upon  his  literary  uses.  A  theolo 
gical  view  might  include  his  abuses  rather  than  his  uses. 

It  may  be  more  original,  if  not  so  interesting,  to  consider  the 
devil  as  of  some  use  in  the  world.  That  his  unprepossessing  features 
have  often  inoculated  the  young  with  wholesome  fear  will  even  yet 
be  stoutly  maintained.  Ever  since  the  days  of  Luther,  the  catechisms 
of  Germany  have  been  adorned  with  a  frontispiece,  representing  him 
with  the  appendages  of  horn,  hoof,  and  forked  tail ;  and  this  was  one 
of  the  modes  employed  for  teaching  youth  correct  theological  notions. 
But  the  march  of  intellect,  which  is  said  to  lick  all  the  world  into 
shape,  has  licked  the  devil  out.  His  horns  are  no  longer  a  dilemma 
to  the  sinner ;  his  claws  no  longer  reach  out  after  the  wicked ;  and 
his  tail  is  no  longer  unfolded  to  harrow  up  the  soul !  Our  intellect 
ual  age  has  acted  upon  him  as  the  crowing  of  the  cock  is  said  to  act 
upon  ghosts  —  the  visible  presence  vanishes  before  daylight.  But  it  is 
unphilosophical  to  affirm  that  he  is  not,  because  his  visible  form  has 
vanished.  He  may  make  his  tracks  in  other  people's  shoes,  and  in 
the  multiplicity  of  his  engagements  he  does  not  always  cover  them. 
We  may  tell,  from  the  slime  he  leaves  behind,  that  a  serpent  went 
that  way,  and  not  less  certainly  that  the  devil  has  been  about  by  cer 
tain  actions  in  human  society.  His  horns  are  hid  under  many  a 
judge's  wig ;  his  hoof  is  pinched  by  many  a  patent-leather  boot ;  and 
his  tail  concealed  by  costliest  broadcloth.  And,  my  fine  lady,  he 
does  not  disdain  to  hide  in  your  dimpled  smile,  to  wanton  with  your 
ringlets,  glitter  in  your  ear-drops,  nestle  in  your  muff,  and  shoot  his 
darts  in  your  glances. 

He  has  no  particular  profession  or  trade,  though  he  can  lend  a 
hand  to  all.  He  preaches,  though  he  has  never  taken  orders.  He  is 
no  lawyer,  but  who  can  sophisticate  like  him  ?  He  is  no  doctor,  but 
he  often  kills.  He  is  no  mechanic,  but  he  glories  in  a  glowing  forge, 
where  implements  of  manifold  deviltry  are  turned  out.  He  is  no 
broker,  but  none  of  your  old,  sleek,  plump  cent-per-cents  has  such 


400  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

razors  for  so  close  a  shave.  Ho  is  no  editor,  but  every  one  has  heard 
of  the  Satanic  press.  He  is  no  tailor,  but  ever  since  he  sat  cross- 
legged  over  the  first  suit  of  fig-leaves,  he  has  had  a  remarkable  run  in 
furnishing  the  disguises  in  which  cant,  humbug,  duplicity,  and  villainy 
appear.  He  is  not  in  the  mercantile  line,  strictly,  but  yet  he  is 

"a  merchant,  too, 

Who  sells  by  the  shortened  yard ; 
"Who  keeps  his  accounts  in  a  way  of  his  own. 
When  he  sells  two  ounces,  he  sets  three  down, 
And  charges  two  shillings  as  half-a-crown, 
And  proves  by  his  clerk  't  is  true !" 

In  fact,  he  attends  to  no  body's  business,  only  because  no  body's  busi 
ness  is  every  body's  business.  The  whirr  of  his  unseen  wings,  as  he 
goes  skurrying  through  the  air,  may  be  heard  at  any  time  by  any 
one  who  chooses  to  listen  !  Any  one  who  is  after  the  devil  will  find 
the  devil  after  him. 

To  define  this  ubiquitous  personage  is  as  difficult  as  to  "paint 
chaos,  to  take  a  portrait  of  Proteus,  or  to  catch  the  figure  of  the 
fleeting  air,"  which  is  his  principality. 

But  that  would  be  a  poor  transcript  of  human  thought  in  which 
this  element  of  evil  were  omitted. 

Whether  its  introduction  into  literature  has  been  of  any  benefit 
to  our  race,  we  do  not  now  consider.  Even  in  poetry  and  fiction, 
familiarity  with  its  presence  is  by  no  means  to  be  coveted.  If  the 
devil  is  truly  represented,  he  must  be  shown  as  a  fiend  of  tact  and 
talent ;  and  then  he  is  as  certain  to  excite  admiration  as  he  is  to 
blaspheme ;  and  if,  as  an  amiable  devil,  why  the  better  devil  he  is 
made  the  worse  devil  he  is ;  for  his  character  then  would  be  alto 
gether  mistaken.  If  the  bad  passions  are  sought  to  be  represented 
in  him,  if  he  is  portrayed  as  one  seeking  whom  he  may  delude  and 
devour,  there  are  enough  of  his  clan  in  the  human  mould,  which  the 
varied  pen  of  literature  has  delineated,  and  may  yet  delineate. 

The  spirit  of  evil  may  as  well  be  illustrated  indirectly  in  the 
human  character  as  in  the  direct  Satanic  character,  for  the  reason  that 
the  old  rogue  appears  more  at  home  when  abroad,  more  easy  in  a 


THE    SATANIC    IN    LITERATURE.  401 

counterfeit  than  in  his  genuine  shape.  But  whether  in  the  one  or  the 
other ;  whether  in  his  own  dim  hide  the  devil  plays  his  part  before 
the  "bacon-brained"  boors  of  the  middle  ages,  in  the  "  Mysteries ;" 
or  whether,  as  Appolyon,  he  wrestles  with  Bunyan  ;  or,  as  Astorath, 
assaults  Saint  Anthony ;  or  plays  the  mischief  with  Faustus  in  Mar 
lowe  ;  or  fills  Dante's  Inferno  with  his  form ;  or  sits  at  the  dreaming 
ear  of  our  first  mother  with  Milton,  whispering  his  wily  wickedness ; 
or  hovers  over  Madrid  on  the  mantle  of  Asmodeus ;  or  wings  his 
way  with  Byron's  Cain  to  the  nethermost  abysses  to  look  upon  pre- 
Adamite  phantoms  and  the  chaos  of  death ;  or,  with  Goethe,  dances 
through  the  Walpurgis  Night  among  the  witches  of  the  Brocken ;  or 
blurts  out  crazed  blasphemy  with  Bailey's  Festus  ;  or  lures  Beauty  to 
a  noble  sacrifice  in  Longfellow's  Golden  Legend;  he  is  not  more 
certainly  the  principle  of  evil,  and  the  antagonist  of  good,  than  when 
he  plays  the  hypocrite  with  Joseph  Surface,  murders  noble  natures 
with  the  honesty  of  lago,  harps  on  his  humility  with  Heep,  or  em 
bodies  the  intense  badness  of  Jeffrey  Puncheons,  or  lubricates  the 
downward  way  with  Oily  Gammon,  or  teases  and  cheats  simplicity 
with  Becky  Sharp,  or  dishes  out  to  poor  school-boys  molasses  and 
brimstone  with  the  ladle  of  Mrs.  Squeers ! 

But  my  subject  is  large  enough  when  limited  to  the  analysis  of 
the  Satanic  element  in  literature,  where  Satan  appears  in  person,  and 
not  by  proxy.  The  consideration  of  the  use  made  of  him  by  Dante, 
Marlowe,  Milton,  Goethe,  Byron,  Southey,  and  Bailey,  will  afford 
theme  enough.  Its  discussion  will  imply  an  examination  into  the 
original  suggestions  which  these  authors  profited  by  in  the  delineation 
of  their  several  devils. 

The  Mosaic  history  of  the  evil  spirit,  his  form  in  Eden,  and  the 
consequences  of  his  temptations  are  familiar.  They  are  the  germ 
out  of  which  nearly  all  diabolic  literature  has  grown.  Wherever 
introduced,  the  arch-rebel  tempts  man  to  his  fall  by  the  alluring 
fruits  of  pleasure  and  knowledge.  Another  Biblical  account,  nearly 
contemporaneous  with  that  of  Moses,  is  that  in  which  Satan  is  repre 
sented  as  asking  of  GOD  the  privilege  to  tempt  Job.  It  represents 
Satan,  not  as  a  fallen  rebel,  but  as  a  tempter ;  the  more  potent 
because  authorized  by  JEHOVAH  ;  or,  as  Bailey  expresses  it,  as  the 


402  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

shadow  of  GOD  himself.  "  There  was  a  day  when  the  sons  of  GOD 
came  to  present  themselves  "before  the  LORD,  and  Satan  came  also." 
He  had  been  walking  to  and  fro  upon  the  earth,  and  having  scoffed 
at  Job's  integrity,  the  LORD  said  unto  Satan,  "  Behold,  he  is  in  thy 
hand."  This  relation  of  Job  has  been  made  the  scape-goat  for  the 
bold  blasphemy  of  Byron,  the  insane  licentiousness  of  Bailey,  and 
the  scoffing  jeers  of  Goethe. 

The  unwritten  literature  of  the  earliest  ages  and  rudest  nations 
has  contained  traditions  as  to  the  evil  spirit.  He  takes  various  forms 
and  characteristics,  according  to  the  physical  environment  or  condition 
of  the  people.  In  the  Indian  mythology,  the  dominion  of  the  Uni 
verse  was  divided,  and  even  the  powers  of  darkness  had  their  castes. 
The  Indian  Trinity  consisted  of  Brahma,  the  Creator ;  Vishnu,  the 
Preserver  ;  and  Sheva,  the  Destroyer.  Sheva  was  represented  as  a 
black  figure,  with  a  terrible  countenance.  He  is  the  only  devil  whom 
literature  has  united  in  the  holy  bands  of  matrimony.  If  he  is  such 
a  monster  devil,  what  must  his  wife  be?  Her  name  was  Goorga. 
She  was  quite  as  black  as  her  amiable  husband,  with  forehead  and 
eyebrows  dripping  blood.  The  feminine  taste  is  displayed  by  a 
necklace  of  skulls,  and  ear-rings  of  human  bodies.  At  her  zone  hang 
the  hands  of  the  giants  whom  she  had  slain.  Quite  an  eligible  match 
for  Sheva,  and  not  unsuitable  for  any  devil ! 

The  tropical  sun  of  Africa  daguerreotyped  him  in  blackest  shades 
as  a  divine  devil,  whose  worship  even  yet  holds  the  swart  Ethiop  in 
thrall.  In  Scandinavia  the  grim  spectres  of  the  misty  North  were 
servitors  of  the  Great  Evil  One,  whom  to  propitiate  was  accounted 
wise  devotion.  The  power  of  evil  was  very  naturally  feared  by  the 
savage,  and  his  religious  instincts  led  him  to  give  hostages  and  pay 
homage  to  an  enemy  more  formidable  than  the  lion  of  the  jungle  and 
more  insidious  than  the  serpent  of  the  fens. 

This  profane  idea  of  the  devil  is  not  unlike  that  of  the  more 
refined  nations  of  antiquity,  of  which  it  is  the  prototype. 

The  Greek  classics  might  as  well  be  without  their  heroes  as  their 
Hades.  Homer  led  Ulysses  into  the  realms  of  Pluto.  Thither 
Euripides,  in  the  Alcestis,  and  Hercules  Furens,  represents  his  heroes 
as  descending.  Sophocles  has  shown  the  son  of  Jupiter  and  Alee- 


THE    SATANIC    IN    LITERATURE.  403 

meno  carrying  off  the  three-headed  dog  of  hell.  Similar  marvellous 
narratives  formed  the  subject  of  two  of  the  lost  plays  of  ^Eschylus, 
and  the  soul  of  his  grand  tragedy,  the  sublimest  effort  of  the  Grecian 
tragic  muse,  is  the  man-loving  and  Jove-despising  Prometheus,  with 
his  will  of  adamant,  unmoved  amidst  the  thunders  and  lightnings  of 
ALMIGHTY  wrath ! 

We  find  the  prototype  of  Milton's  Satan  in  this  sullen  and 
implacable  hater  of  heaven.  ^Eschylus  had  a  genius  for  painting  with 
a  terrible  grace.  He  delighted  to  represent  those  old  demi-gods  — 
those  dark  powers  of  primitive  nature,  who,  warring  against  the 
divine  order,  had  been  driven  into  Tartarus,  beneath  a  better-regu 
lated  world.  The  emperor  among  Titans,  even  as  Satan  among  the 
fallen  angels,  was  Prometheus,  half-fiend,  yet  benefactor  of  the 
creature,  though  invincible  in  his  endless  hatred  of  the  CREATOR. 
The  Titan  suffers,  with  what  a  hopeless  agony  !  yet  proud  above  all 
pain  —  chained  to  the  naked  rock  on  the  shore  of  the  encircling 
ocean,  conscious  that  he  holds  the  secret  on  which  rests  the  AL 
MIGHTY'S  throne ;  and  whether  silent  in  the  energy  of  his  will,  or 
giving  it  expression  to  the  condoling  sea-nymphs  and  the  wandering 
lo ;  and  at  last,  when  still  braving  the  threats  of  Jove,  and  amidst 
the  storms  of  his  unappeasable  vengeance,  he  is  swallowed  up  in 
the  chaotic  abyss,  still  defiant,  still  exultant ! 

Some  have  found  in  this  demi-Satan  a  prototype  of  the  sacrifice 
of  the  SAVIOUR.  Prometheus  suffered  to  give  man  perfection ;  in 
this  he  was  like  our  SAVIOUR.  But  he  did  this  contrary  to  the  will 
of  the  OMNIPOTENT  ;  and  here  the  comparison  fails.  In  one  case  the 
throes  of  nature  were  sympathetic  with  the  sacrifice  of  DEITY.  In  the 
other,  they  were  HEAVEN'S  implements  of  torture !  The  resemblance 
between  the  chained  Titan  and  the  fallen  son  of  the  morning  is  so 
striking  that  Milton  must  have  taken  it  as  his  model  of  Satanic  intel 
lectual  energy. 

The  spirit  of  the  Prometheus  may  be  found  lurking  in  nearly 
every  mythology  and  religion. 

Although  the  province  of  the  devil  was  well  defined  and  limited 
in  the  Christian  dispensation,  yet  even  in  its  earlier  literature  we  find 
a  sect,  who,  having  taken  Prometheus  as  a  type,  erected  a  throne  on 


404  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

earth  for  the  power  of  hell.  The  Gnostics  of  the  second  century 
held  the  doctrine  of  two  principles,  from  which  proceeded  all  things ; 
one  a  wise  and  benevolent  DEITY  ;  and  the  other,  a  principle  essen 
tially  evil.  Elxai  and  Saturninus  propagated  these  doctrines  in 
Syria,  and  in  the  Greek  language,  and  instituted  an  order  whose 
tenets  utterly  degraded  the  religion  of  CHRIST.  Valentine  of  Egypt 
formed  them  into  a  system,  and  evoked  out  of  it,  by  some  fanciful 
jiMgelic  marriages,  a  Superior  Power,  called  Demiurgus,  from  whose 
forming  hand  our  globe  and  our  race  issued,  and  to  whom  men  were 
enslaved  by  their  evil  passions.  CHRIST  came  to  this  world  to  redeem 
it  from  Demiurgus,  and  the  contest  was  to  rage  until  Demiurgus  was 
dethroned. 

But  another  Gnostic  branch  held  that  the  serpent  by  which  our 
tirst  parents  were  deceived  was  either  CHRIST  himself  or  Sophia,  the 
perfect  wisdom  concealed  under  the  serpent's  form;  and  serpents 
became  with  them  objects  of  Christian  worship  !  The  sophistry  of 
Greece  was  thus  renewed;  the  distinctions  between  good  and  evil 
were  brushed  away,  and  an  admirable  hint  giyen  to  the  nineteenth- 
century  lawyer,  Bailey,  of  the  Inner  Temple,  for  his  Festus,  in  which 
he  beatifies  the  Gnostic  vision,  and  makes  the  DEITY  and  the  devil 
to  be  one ! 

In  the  dark  ages  the  devil  assimilated  himself  to  the  gross  imagi 
nation  of  the  ignorant,  and  walked  forth  in  all  the  material  deformity 
of  hoof,  horns,  claws,  and  tail.  The  medium  by  which  he  was 
exhibited  was  the  theologic  drama  called  the  Mysteries.  The  pil 
grims  from  the  Holy  Land  were  the  actors.  In  later  times,  and  even 
up  to  the  Reformation,  a  higher  form  of  these  mysteries  obtained, 
and  greater  attention  was  given  to  their  composition.  In  these  plays 
the  devil  was  a  favorite,  for  he  always  raised  the  laugh.  This  theo 
logic  stage  usually  consisted  of  three  platforms,  and  the  devil  had 
the  lowest,  the  angels  the  next,  and  GOD  the  highest.  On  one  side  of 
the  lower  platform  was  a  yawning  cave,  from  which  the  devil 
ascended  to  delight  and  instruct  the  spectators.  Never  a  king  or 
a  baron  gave  to  his  subjects  or  retainers  a  gala  where  this  rude  repre 
sentation  was  omitted.  Indeed,  the  devil  became  so  common  that 
men  ceased  to  regard  him  as  other  than  a  jolly  good  fellow ;  and  the 


THE    SATANIC    IN    LITERATURE.  405 

actor  who  could  growl  his  part  most  demoniacally  won  the  applause  of 
the  men  and  the  smiles  of  the  women. 

The  relics  of  this  age  are  yet  to  be  seen  in  Europe.  Many  an 
ancient  minster  or  chapel  has  its  images  over  the  door-way  carved  in 
stone,  bedaubed  in  canvas,  or  illuminated  in  missal,  representing  the 
laughing  prince  of  perdition.  I  remember  one  in  Fribourg,  Switzer 
land,  where  the  devil  appears  with  the  head  of  a  hog,  and  a  basket 
ful  of  sinners  at  his  back.  He  weighs  them  in  the  scales,  and  while 
good  angels  in  vain  strive  to  make  the  beam  kick  in  favor  of  heaven, 
the  satellites  of  sin  strive  on  the  other  side,  and  that  successfully. 
When  weighed,  they  are  shovelled  into  a  seething  caldron,  where 
grinning  imps  stir  them  into  a  hotch-potch  of  slab  hell-broth,  with  an 
industry  worthy  of  a  better  cause,  and  an  indelicacy  which  would 
shock  a  Parisian  cuisine. 

The  coarseness  of  the  dark  ages  disappeared,  and  with  it  this 
ribald  devil.  But  in  cultivated  minds  there  still  lingered  a  terrible 
form  of  evil.  It  was  a  reality  even  as  late  as  Luther  —  a  reality  at 
which  the  burly  reformer  hurled  his  ink-stand  in  the  Wartburg.  In 
the  fourteenth  century,  hell  and  purgatory  were  realities,  ever  present 
to  the  eye  of  the  Christian.  The  vices  and  follies  of  men  had  run 
riot  with  a  prodigality  which  called  for  a  retribution ;  and  the  stern 
justice  of  Dante's  intellect  created  an  Inferno,  where,  with  dreadful 
distinctness,  grim  and  gibbering  fiends  should  add  terror  to  the  tor 
ments  of  the  damned.  At  this  time  learning  was  just  opening  its 
way  out  of  the  cloister  to  the  sun-shine  ;  statuary  began  its  mission 
by  carving  a  Madonna  or  a  crucifix ;  painting  colored  a  missal,  as 
initiatory  to  the  frescoes  which  now  glorify  the  domes  of  the  Italian 
basilicas ;  eloquence,  waiting  its  Luther  and  Erasmus,  spake  in  pane 
gyric  of  some  favorite  saint ;  and  history  toyed  at  legends  prepara 
tory  to  her  more  serious  duties :  then  arose  Dante,  and  with  the 
same  power  with  which  he  dared  to  scale  a  heaven  of  bliss,  descended 
to  the  abodes  of  despair. 

Yet  even  his  retributive  morality,  elevated  for  his  age,  partakes 
somewhat  of  its  coarseness.  In  his  description  of  Satan  he  seems  to 
have  been  stricken  dumb  by  the  dread  apparition,  so  that  his  pen 
trembles  in  view  of  its  awful  office.  The  few  etchings  of  Satan 


406  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

which  he  gives,  might  have  been  then  considered  as  sublime  at  the 
Florentine  court,  and  would  be  now,  had  not  Milton  far  outstretched 
him  in  the  grandeur  and  boldness  of  the  vision,  and  had  not  some  of 
the  features  been  so  grotesque  as  to  be  laughable.  The  first  observes 
Satan  standing  mid-breast  in  the  icy  lake  of  hell,  his  black  banners 
before  him,  and  a  cloud  of  night  around  him.  Dante  is  in  stature 
more  like  a  giant  than  the  giants  are  his  arms ! 

"  IF  he  were  beautiful 
As  he  is  hideous  now,  and  yet  did  dare 

To  scowl  upon  his  MAKER well  from  him    • 

May  all  our  misery  flow " 

He  has  three  faces;  one  of  vermilion,  representing  anger;  one 
between  wan  and  yellow,  representing  envy  ;  the  third  black,  repre 
senting  gloom.  Vast  wings  shoot  forth  under  his  shoulders,  made, 
like  those  of  bats,  without  plumes,  yet  larger  than  any  sails  upon  the 
sea!  He  flaps  them,  and  three  cold  winds  come  forth,  freezing 
Cocytus  to  its  depth.  His  six  eyes  wreep  tears  of  bloody  foam.  At 
every  mouth  he  champs  a  sinner,  bruising  them  as  with  ponderous 
engine.  One  of  these  victims,  honored  as  a  special  mouthful,  is 
Judas  Iscariot,  the  skin  of  whose  back  is  stripped  up  occasionally,  by 
way  of  variety.  No  dead  Judas  either,  but  extremely  vital,  for  we 
are  told  that  while  his  head  is  in  the  Satanic  jaw  he  plies  his  feet 
without !  The  last  view  which  Dante  has,  places  his  lordship  upside 
down  to  his  vision,  which  position  certainly  takes  nothing  from  the 
terrible  grotesqueness  of  the  scene  ! 

But  as  without  the  rude  Mysteries  we  would  have  had  no  Dante, 
so  without  Dante  we  should  have  had  no  Miltonic  Satan.  The  seed 
of  one  age  becomes  the  blossom  and  fruit  of  another ;  for  the  black 
art  of  the  middle  ages  gave  Goethe  the  seminal  idea  of  his  great 
drama. 

The  revival  of  learning  found  Europe  full  of  legends  of  devilish 
tricks  with  witches,  wizards,  warlocks,  conjurers,  magicians,  astrolo 
gers,  and  others  of  that  ilk.  How  men  and  women  walked  invisibly, 
rode  in  the  air  on  broomsticks,  gibbered  a  universal  language,  raised 
winds,  disturbed  the  dead,  and  tormented  the  living  —  are  they  not 


THE    SATANIC    IN    LITERATURE.  407 

written  in  the  black-letter  folios  of  the  Magi,  seldom  to  "be  conned 
seriously  in  this  matter-of-fact  age  ?  It  may  now  be  thought  very 
undignified  in  Satan  to  condescend  to  such  hocus-pocus  whimsies  as  the 
evil  eye,  magic  circles,  tipping  tables,  cabalistic  words,  changing  a 
truss  of  hay  into  a  horse,  producing  the  phantom  of  a  deer-hunt  in  a 
banqueting  hall,  saying  the  LORD'S  Prayer  backward,  and  the  like. 
That  credulous  age  has  gone  by,  and  we,  vaunting  our  science,  sneer 
at  it ;  yes,  we,  in  this  age  of  table-tapping  spiritualism !  Our  learned 
judges  who  ridicule  Lord  Hale  for  his  faith  in  witchcraft ;  our  savans 
who  smile  at  the  idea  of  the  protective  horse-shoe,  who  can  not  see 
the  peculiar  virtue  in  hanging  a  witch  with  a  green  withe,  instead  of 
a  rope,  swallow  whole  tomes  of  gibberish  revelations  from  silly  and 
lieing  spirits,  rapping  out  their  ridiculous  fanfaronade  on  varnished 
mahogany !  There  was  something  horribly  definite  in  the  shapes 
which  peopled  the  medieval  imagination.  After  beating  around  litera 
ture  for  dim  intimations  of  spiritual  devils,  it  is  refreshing  to  come 
upon  the  devil  in  fact  and  in  form.  Those  two  great  eyes  stare  at 
you ;  the  flame  which  breathes  from  mouth  and  nostril  glares  upon 
you.  There  is  the  snaky  hair  and  hardened  horn,  the  dim  hide  and 
shaggy  back,  the  divided  hoof  and  double  vibrating  tongue,  the  brim 
stone  smell  and  candles  burning  blue,  as  they  wink  and  flicker.  The 
air  grows  hot,  the  heart  beats  as  it  burns,  and  the  hair  of  the  flesh 
stands  up,  while  in  icy  rills  sensation  chills  to  the  bone !  Oh !  there 
was  in  this  a  sturdy  belief,  unruffled  by  science,  quite  ravishing  to 
transcendental  souls.  There  was  then  a  happy  propensity,  especially 
among  the  ignorant,  to  resolve  every  thing  strange  and  wonderful 
into  devilism.  A  solution  so  convenient  will  commend  itself  to  our 
rapping  circles,  as  well  for  its  simplicity  as  for  its  agreement  with 
the  maxim,  that  where  the  marvel  is  unaccountable,  the  devil  is  in  it. 
Beside,  if  not  true,  it  is  as  good  a  solution  as  any  yet  submitted. 
This  is  the  way  the  ignorant  people  of  the  fifteenth  century  resolved 
all  the  wonders  of  magic  and  the  results  of  alchemy.  The  wooden 
pigeon  of  Architus,  the  brazen  serpent  of  Boetius,  which  hissed,  the 
golden  birds  of  Leo,  which  sang,  and  the  brazen  head  of  Friar  Bacon, 
which  spoke,  were  evidences  of  Satanic  connection.  The  scholars  and 
chemists  of  that  time  did  not  feel  indignant,  either,  at  the  alliance ; 


408  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

for  many  of  them,  bedevilled  by  the  madness  which  vanity,  seclusion, 
and  the  fumes  of  an  indigestible  learning  created,  gave  out  in  speeches 
that,  in  their  transmutation  of  metals,  and  in  their  search  after  the 
elixir  and  the  philosopher's  stone,  the  assistance  of  his  nether  majesty 
had  been  politely  tendered. 

It  was  out  of  this  credulity  that  Dr.  Faustus,  the  sorcerer,  became 
so  intimate  with  the  devil.  Marlowe,  one  of  Shakspeare's  contempo 
raries,  first  fixed  this  legend  in  the  drama.  But  his  Faust  was  a  vul 
gar  sorcerer,  tempted  by  a  poor  devil  to  sell  his  soul  for  the  ordinary 
price  of  sensual  pleasure  and  earthly  glory ;  and  who,  when  the  for 
feit  comes  to  be  exacted,  shrinks  with  very  unheroic  whining. 

Many  German  writers  have  attempted  the  same  legend:  they 
failed.  It  was  reserved  for  the  great  leader  of  the  German  choir,  to 
inspire,  with  perpetual  life,  this  thrilling  tradition.  Goethe  seized 
upon  it,  not  to  gratify  the  curious,  but  to  establish  a  truce  between 
the  ideal  of  his  soul  and  the  actual  of  his  life,  which  elements  had 
long  warred  in  his  bosom  with  no  determinate  purpose  or  goodly 
end !  He  travels  with  his  devil  along  the  dusty  pathways  of  life, 
penetrates  into  its  purlieus  of  vice,  even  becomes  licentious,  blasphe 
mous,  and  vulgar  in  holding  the  mirror  up  to  its  changeful  scenes, 
revels  in  the  wine-cups  of  the  Rhine,  and  runs  the  whole  round  of 
human  pleasure  and  knowledge;  but  at  last,  guided  by  the  gentle 
spirit  of  Margaret,  whose  excellence,  innocence,  Christian  faith,  and 
sensitive  purity  could  not  bear  even  the  disguised  presence  of  evil, 
seeks  in  her  an  ideal  so  ethereally  pure  and  consolingly  serene,  even 
amid  the  prisons  and  tortures  of  earth,  that  the  seraphs  of  GOD  wel 
come  her  with  transporting  minstrelsy  on  the  golden  lyres,  as  if  she 
were  the  very  essence  of  Gonhood  and  grace  !  This  ideal  is  the  object 
of  the  devil's  hate.  Faust  would  woo  her  to  himself;  but  HEAVEN  at 
last  divides  them ;  for  Faust  hath  sold  himself  to  the  devil,  and  the 
sweet  presence  of  Margaret  could  never  dwell,  save  in  unrest,  near 
the  dark  companion  of  her  love. 

The  stcry  of  Faust  is  every  one's  own  experience.  We  burn  for 
more  pleasure,  knowledge,  and  power.  The  fiend  promises  them  if 
we  will  sell  to  him  our  souls,  and  then  the  strife  begins. 

Solomon  has  been  called  the  Faust  of  Scripture.     He  found  the 


THE    SATANIC    IN    LITERATURE.  409 

vanity  of  pleasure,  knowledge,  and  power,  when  he  had  become  their 
bondman.  "A  genuine  and  generous  attachment  might  have  placed 
happiness  by  means  of  the  affections  once  more  within  reach  of  the 
oriental  monarch.  But  the  presence  of  three  hundred  wives  and 
seven  hundred  concubines  deprived  him  of  even  that  contingency." 
Mephistopheles,  the  caustic  and  cynical  voluptuary,  could  have  wished 
for  no  better  subject.  "  If  an  overgrown  library  can  produce  a  sur 
feit  of  knowledge,  an  overstocked  seraglio  will  more  certainly  bring 
an  atrophy  of  the  affections.  When  reason,  feeling,  and  conscience 
are  ill  at  ease,  to  fall  back  upon  sensual  indulgence  for  a  remedy  is  to 
take  a  roll  in  the  gutter  by  way  of  a  medicated  mud-bath  !" 

To  this  recreation  the  sated  scholar,  Faust,  is  invited  by  Mephis 
topheles,  and  in  the  course  of  their  companionship,  the  character  of 
Mephistopheles,  as  "the  best  and  only  genuine  devil  of  modern 
times,"  is  revealed.  It  is  this  character  we  now  propose  to  discuss. 

Mephistopheles  is  not  the  devil  of  horn  and  hoof;  for  he  expressly 
repudiates  the  use  of  such  signs  of  his  calling.  He  says  of  these 
appendages,  that  they  would  prejudice  him  in  society ;  shrewdly 
implying  that  he  could  get  into  many  a  man's  graces  in  a  fashionable 
doublet  who  would  cut  his  acquaintance  if  he  swished  a  tail !  Carlyle 
has  said,  "  Goethe's  devil  is  a  cultivated  personage,  acquainted  with 
modern  sciences;  he  sneers  at  witchcraft  and  the  black  art  while 
employing  them."  He  has  the  manners  of  your  modern  gentleman ; 
can  swagger  and  debate,  drink  and  poetize,  swear  and  pray,  smoke 
and  philosophize.  He  is  a  diplomatist,  and  can  lie  with  "distin 
guished  consideration."  He  is  a  politician,  and  can  talk  and  trim  in 
a  bar-room  with  as  easy  a  tact  as  in  the  study  of  the  scholar.  He  is 
a  sneering,  scoffing  devil,  sharp  at  sarcasm,  quick  to  the  ridiculous, 
appreciative  of  the  rascally,  loves  a  lie  as  an  Englishman  does  beef, 
or  a  Spaniard  a  bull-fight ;  and  has  altogether  the  coolest  inventive 
malignity,  mingled  with  the  most  infernal  meanness  ever  embodied  in 
literature.  He  is  perfectly  at  home  in  a  pew,  can  say  most  gracefully 
his  grace,  and  dusts  his  knees  after  devotion  with  great  demureness. 
He  believes  in  himself,  and  is  true  to  no  one  else  but  himself,  which 
makes  him  consistently  false  to  all. 

His  first  appearance  when  he  asks  the  LORD,  with  great  self-corn- 


410  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

placency,  leave  to  guide  Faust  in  his  own  way,  and  offers  to  bet  with 
the  ALMIGHTY  that  he  will  win,  is  about  as  frigid  a  piece  of  blasphe 
mous  mockery  as  can  be  found.  Obtaining  and  expressing  great 
thankfulness  for  the  privilege,  he  goes  off  from  the  presence  of  the 
ALMIGHTY  and  his  angels  with  the  remark,  "  I  like  to  see  the  ancient 
one"  (or  old  gentleman)  "  occasionally.  It 's  quite  civil  in  so  great  a 
LORD  to  talk  with  the  devil  himself."  It  is  this  ultimate,  impudent 
depravity,  "  logical  life  with  moral  death,"  which  makes  him  so  fasci 
nating  to  the  skeptics  of  Germany.  Yet,  if  need  be,  he  can  hide  this 
repulsiveness.  You  may  keep  him  company  for  weeks  and  never 
have  a  hint  of  hell  or  a  sniff  of  brimstone.  He  may  be  with  you 
without  your  knowledge,  seeing  without  being  seen,  hearing  without 
being  heard,  coming  in  without  leave,  and  leaving  without  noise ;  can 
be  shut  neither  in  nor  out ;  is  seen  when  he  is  not  known,  and  is 
known  when  he  is  not  seen :  so  that  he  is  the  more  potent  in  his  allure 
ments  and  dangerous  in  his  designs,  because  he  is  so  complete  in  his 
duplicity.  As  Spenser  was  called  the  poet's  poet,  so  may  Mephisto- 
pheles  be  called  the  devil's  devil.  He  assumes  the  form  of  a  poodle 
or  a  gentleman  at  will ;  goes  off  in  thin  air,  or  takes  substantial  form ; 
sings  songs  with  the  jovial ;  talks  like  an  institution  with  a  "  we ;" 
argues  philosophy  with  the  pedantic,  and  plays  the  Satanic  all  the 
time. 

One  of  his  many  sides  is  the  comical.  He  has  his  fun,  but  it  is  a 
diabolical  fun.  In  the  wine-cellar,  at  Leipzig,  is  a  drinking  party, 
loud  in  carousal  and  deep  in  their  cups.  The  devil  would  show  Faust 
with  what  little  wit  and  much  content  life  may  fly  away ;  and  in  the 
guise  of  travellers  they  join  the  party.  He  sings  a  song,  furnishes 
liquor  by  boring  a  hole  in  the  edge  of  the  table,  draws  from  it  wine, 
some  of  which,  spilt  by  an  awkward  reveller,  turns  to  flame.  Then, 
indeed,  is  dismay ;  then  ensues  a  fight,  in  which,  of  course,  the  devil 
gets  the  best;  after  which  he  transports,  by  his  necromancy,  the 
carousing  company  into  a  paradise  of  beauty,  where,  amid  flowers 
and  fruit  they  revel,  plucking  luscious  grapes  with  avidity,  which,  as 
the  illusion  is  dispelled,  they  find,  for  grapes,  each  other's  noses. 

It  is  said  that  the  devil  has  a  hand  in  all  the  fun  and  frolic  of  life. 
There  is  some  reason  for  the  assertion.  The  confession  may  not  be 


THE    SATANIC    IN    LITERATURE.  411 

creditable ;  but  an  analysis  of  the  most  comical  characters  of  Shake 
speare  or  Dickens  will  reveal  a  large  alloy  of  deviltry.  Mischief  is 
first  cousin  to  Momus.  "  Old  Knick"  always  has  fun  at  his  "  table." 
There  is  an  infirmity  in  our  nature  which  likes  this  flavor  of  sin  in  the 
wine  of  life ;  it  may  be  because  it  prefers  the  joking  to  the  earnest 
devil.  Many  never  think  of  him  without  a  chuckle,  or  talk  of  him 
without  a  joke.  The  majority  will  enjoy  the  Devil's  Drive  of  Byron 
better  than  his  Lucifer,  and  the  Devil's  Thoughts  with  Coleridge  much 
better  than  Satan's  speeches  to  his  fallen  comrades.  Coleridge  has 
happily  seen  the  laughing  side,  and  catches  this  view  of  him  when  he 

sings, 

"  FROM  his  brimstone  bed  at  break  of  day 

A-walking  the  devil  is  gone, 
To  visit  his  snug  little  farm,  the  earth, 
And  see  how  his  stock  goes  on. 

"  Over  the  hill  and  over  the  dale, 
And  he  went  over  the  plain, 

And  backward  and  forward  he  switched  his  long  tail, 
As  a  gentleman  switches  his  cane. 

"  He  saw  a  lawyer  killing  a  viper 

On  a  dung-hill  hard  by  his  own  stable ; 
And  the  devil  smiled,  for  it  put  him  in  mind 
Of  CAIN  and  his  brother  ABEL. 

"  He  saw  an  apothecary  on  a  white  horse 

Ride  by  on  his  vocations, 
And  the  devil  thought  of  his  old  friend, 
DEATH  in  the  Revelations. 

"  He  saw  a  cottage  with  a  double  coach-house, 

A  cottage  of  gentility, 
And  the  devil  did  grin,  for  his  darling  sin 
Is  pride  which  apes  humility. 

"  He  peeped  into  a  rich  bookseller's  shop, 

Quoth  he,  '  We  are  both  of  one  college ; 
For  I  sate  myself,  like  a  cormorant,  once 
Hard  by  the  tree  of  knowledge.'  " 


412  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Byron  took  up  this  strain,  and  tried  to  handle  it  similarly,  but  he  had 
less  humor  than  spleen.  His  devil  drove  with  him  into  London, 
visited  the  booksellers,  the  Lords  and  Commons,  and  found  so  much 
geniality,  that  he  went  back  delighted  to  his  meal  of  homicides  done 
in  ragout,  and  a  rebel  or  two  in  an  Irish  stew,  and  sausages  made  of 
a  self-slain  Jew. 

But  no  author  has  combined,  in  this  jolly  devil,  such  a  variety  of 
diabolic  attributes  as  Goethe.  It  was  necessary  that  life  be  exhibited 
in  all  its  phases,  and  to  omit  laughter  would  have  been  a  sad  depriva 
tion.  Having  bound  Faust  in  a  contract  signed  with  his  own  blood,  lu> 
runs  with  him  the  round  of  transient  joy,  takes  him  through  the  rack 
ing  experiences  of  love,  hampers  his  mind  with  denial,  harrows  it  with 
doubt,  proves  to  him  the  emptiness  of  pleasure,  and  drives  him  to 
despair,  and  would  drive  us  also,  but  for  the  heavenly  vision  of  Mar 
garet,  whose  life,  like  the  prayers  of  Dante's  Beatrice,  buoy  the  soul 
upward  to  the  SOURCE  of  Love  and  Light !  whose  life  leaps  from  the 
dark  drama  like  a  silver  cascade  from  a  gloomy  Alpine  gorge,  white 
in  purity,  spanned  by  the  iris  of  Hope,  and  singing  like  a  seraph  of 
Joy. 

The  Satan  of  Milton  is  so  familiar  that  it  needs  no  analysis  in 
order  to  compare  him  with  this  sneering  skeptic  of  Goethe.  The 
former  is  epical,  the  latter  dramatic.  The  former  is  a  higher  reach 
of  genius.  It  is  transcendental.  The  Satan  of  Milton,  like  the  witches 
of  Macbeth  or  the  Tempest,  is  supernatural.  The  scenery  and  con 
duct  belongs  not  to  our  sphere,  the  earth.  Mephistopheles  is  entirely 
at  home  among  men.  The  Satan  of  Milton  is  vast,  vague,  uncertain. 
"  floating  many  a  rood ;"  a  conception,  not  a  form  of  matter ;  a  sha 
dowy  phantom  towering  sublime  like  TenerifFe,  with  features  scarred 
with  the  thunder  of  GOD'S  vengeance.  Mephistopheles  is  a  worldling, 
a  changeling,  a  schemer,  with  no  very  determinate  means,  but  takes 
any  to  a  bad  end. 

"  So  monarchs,  when  their  politics  grow  stale, 
Change  measures,  and  by  novelty  prevail." 

The  Satan  of  Milton  in  intellectual  massiveness  is  only  equalled  by 
his  moral  obliquity.  He  embodies  a  icill  more  than  Promethean. 


THE    SATANIC    IN    LITERATURE.  413 

Mephistopheles   seems  to  say,   "  I  would,"  or  "  I  may ;"  Satan,  "  I 
WILL  !" 

Napoleon  coped  with  destiny,  and  read  in  the  stars  his  horoscope ; 
and  he  moved  on  to  its  fulfillment  as  the  cannon-ball  which  he  sped, 
regardless  of  the  ruin  it  made.  Talleyrand  played  with  men  and 
associated  with  women,  and,  like  the  Vicar  of  Bray,  by  a  mobility  in 
duplicity,  retained  his  place  under  every  form  of  government.  Bona 
parte  was  more  like  Satan ;  Talleyrand,  Mephistopheles.  Mephisto 
pheles  copes  with  man,  and  laughs  over  his  success  in  human  weak 
ness  ;  Satan  copes  with  GOD,  and  energizes,  by  his  nervous  oratory, 
the  myriads  of  hell  to  rise  against  the  OMNIPRESENT  in  arms.  The 
one  shirks  and  dodges  through  life ;  the  other  rises  above  life,  defies 
Death  and  conquers  Despair. 

In  Mephistopheles  we  have  a  dove  in  gentleness,  if  need  be ;  a  ser 
pent  in  cunning  at  all  times ;  but  he  never  rises  to  that  lofty  daring 
in  which  the  heroic  element  consists.  "  But  Satan's  might  intellectual 
is  victorious  over  all  extremities  of  pain ;  amid  agonies  unutterable, 
he  delineates,  resolves,  and  even  exults.  Against  the  sword  of  Mich 
ael,  the  thunder  of  JEHOVAH,  the  naming  lake,  and  the  marl  burning 
with  solid  fire ;  against  the  prospect  of  an  eternity  of  unintermittent 
misery,  his  spirit  bears  up  unbroken,  resting  on  its  own  innate  ener 
gies,  requiring  no  support  from  any  thing  external,  nor  even  from 
hope  itself!" 

Satan  and  Mephistopheles  are  neither  old  wives'  devils,  such  as 
those  of  Tasso  and  Klopstock ;  they  are  not  vast,  well-defined  ma 
chines,  munching  Iscariots,  like  Dante's  Satan;  not  allegorico-mys- 
tico-sophistico-metaphysical  devils,  like  Bailey's  Lucifer,  hungering 
and  thirsting  after  unrighteousness,  and  striving  to  reconcile  good 
with  evil,  and  to  educe  purity  out  of  pollution. 

There  is  a  fascination  both  in  Satan  and  in  Mephistopheles,  which 
belongs  not  to  the  heroes  of  Byron  and  Bailey.  Byron  reflects  in  his 
Lucifer  his  own  morbid  doublings,  and  reviles  GOD  with  a  bitterness 
of  spirit  which  deserves  the  reprobation  of  the  good.  Bailey,  in  his 
Festus,  loses  all  regard  for  the  properties  of  the  diabolic.  His  devil 
falls  in  love  in  one  place ;  in  another,  scolds  the  damned  like  a  fish- 
woman,  reproves  his  under-fiends  for  laziness,  telling  them  that  they 


414  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

do  not  earn  enough  to  pay  for  the  caloric  that  burns  them  ;  mingles 
love  and  lust ;  loses  sight  of  the  distinctions  between  the  moral  and 
the  intellectual,  and  ends  his  medley  with  the  triumph  of  sensibility 
over  reason  and  the  endevilment  of  GOD  ALMIGHTY. 

Suppose  proclamation  were  made  for  a  great  congress  in  Pande 
monium.  The  infernal  palace  of  Dis  is  lighted  with  the  lurid  flames ; 
the  hissing  of  the  serpents,  the  wail  of  the  lost,  and  the  surging  of  the 
liquid  lake  ceases  for  the  occasion.  Suddenly  the  smoke  of  the  pit 
clears  away,  the  seats  of  the  Satanic  senators  are  revealed,  and  the 
roll  is  called.  Sheva,  the  black  destroyer  of  Jnd,  answers  for  him 
self  and  queen ;  Prometheus,  the  Titanic  heaven-hater,  and  Demiur- 
gus,  the  gnostic  world-king  of  evil,  are  there !  The  arch-fiend  of  the 
Mysteries  exalts  his  horn,  and  stamps  with  his  iron  hoof !  The  three- 
faced  Emperor  of  Dante,  with  his  mouthful  of  sinners,  sends  a  tem 
pest  from  his  mighty  wings  to  announce  his  presence  !  The  leering 
Mephistopheles  swaggers  to  his  seat  with  a  devil-may-care  air !  And 
Lucifer,  Moloch,  and  Belial,  and  Beelzebub,  and  all  the  devils  of 
romance,  tradition,  and  history,  fill  the  hall.  But  the  great  leader 
appears  not  yet !  Suspense  reigns  in  the  abyss !  Far  off  his  coming 
shines  !  And  Satan,  the  self-elected  king  of  all,  strides  proudly  to  the 
highest  seat !  Then  go  up  the  shouts  which  shake  hell's  concave ! 

No  caucus  for  speaker  is  needed  now.  No  wrangle  for  the  pre 
miership  ;  for  no  voice  is  heard  till  the  ruined  archangel  has  first  spo 
ken  and  commanded.  He  overtops  them  all,  even  as  Jove  the  gods 
of  Olympus,  "  in  mien  and  gesture  proudly  eminent !" 

Other  languages  have  had  worse  specimens  of  depravity  in  their 
literature  than  ours.  France,  in  her  licentiousness,  Germany,  in  her 
skepticism,  Italy,  in  her  abandonment,  have  more  of  the  elements  of 
positive  evil ;  but  it  was  reserved  for  the  English  muse  to  produce 
this  unrivalled  genius  of  evil ;  and  while  we  deplore  that  industry 
intellect,  and  will  are  associated  with  so  much  badness,  yet,  thanks 
to  John  Milton,  the  freeman  of  English  intellect,  at  once  heroic  and 
holy,  he  has  created  an  impassable  gulf  between  evil  and  good,  and 
testing  human  action  by  these  most  radical  distinctions,  sings  a  "  Para 
dise  Regained"  from  the  thraldom  of  Satan ! 

Thus  much  for  our  analysis  of  the  Satanic  element  of  literature. 


THE    SATANIC    IN    LITERATURE.  415 

There  is  much  only  hinted,  more  unsaid.  My  limits  allow  no  excur 
sions  into  the  fields  of  theology.  Nor  have  1  introspected  the  human 
heart,  to  find  its  legions  of  devils,  who  harbor  along  its  sinuous  ave 
nues,  and  revel  in  its  chambers  of  imagery.  We  may  feel  bold  at 
the  idea  that  the  material  devil  has  disappeared ;  may  draw  a  reliev 
ing  sigh  that  all  these  creations  we  have  considered  are  but  the  fig 
ments  of  the  imagination ;  but  this  one  fact  remains  as  palpable  as 
granite,  that  there  is  a  devil,  all  the  more  real  because  viewless,  all 
the  more  subtle  because  concealed,  all  the  more  dangerous  because  he 
hides  in  our  hearts,  befools  our  senses,  and  makes  his  hell  in  our  own 
unhappiness.  His  is  a  spiritual  existence,  and  therefore  a  more  ter 
rible  reality ! 

Is,  then,  the  "  Paradise  Eegained  "  but  a  song  1  And  shall  the 
fact  ever  be  a  Paradise  Lost  —  lost  —  lost  for  ever  !  Shall  those  mys 
terious  relations  of  the  soul  to  evil,  emblemed  in  these  creations  of 
literature,  continue  *?  Shall  the  soul  for  ever  "  lacerate  itself  with 
sin  and  misery,  like  a  captive  bird  against  the  iron  limits  which 
necessity  has  drawn  around  it  f  We  answer  fearfully,  Yes ;  yet 
hopefully,  No  ! 

Fearfully,  Yes;  for  while  the  human  intellect  is  prostituted 
through  print,  there  is  the  most  enduring  of  wrongs,  the  most  irre 
vocable  of  evils.  It  is  the  angel  of  light,  fallen,  and  eclipsed  of 
his  glory,  and  dragging  other  angels  with  him.  Wit,  fancy,  talent, 
humor,  judgment,  and  genius  join  in  some  gifted  mind  with  the  cun 
ning  craft  of  deviltry,  and  an  influence  like  that  of  a  leprous  spot 
enters  and  defiles  the  soul  for  ever. 

Hopefully,  No ;  for  as  the  age  grows  brighter  and  warmer,  n 
kindlier  philosophy  bedews  the  lip  of  song,  and  a  holier  spirit  en 
kindles  the  fire  of  enthusiasm.  The  works  of  those  who  refuse  conse 
cration  at  the  font  of  purity,  who  would  wanton  with  licentiousness 
and  error,  will  be  thrown  aside  among  the  rubbish  of  dullness  and 
duncery.  The  splendors  of  genius  will  not  save  them  from  the 
eclipses  of  neglect.  This  idolatry  of  the  Satanic  will  pass  away,  and 
the  prince  of  the  power  of  the  air  will  in  vain  seek  for  his  old  alli 
ance  with  the  genius  of  print,  so  long  as  virtue  is  regarded  as  better 


416  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

than  ability,  and  godliness  than  gain.  Shall  the  evil  one  for  ever 
haunt  humanity  1  Hopefully,  no  !  no  !  no  ! 

I  have  an  Italian  painting  which  is  emblematic  of  this  contest  be 
tween  evil  and  good  on  the  earth.  It  is  a  night  scene  on  the  shores 
of  Sicily.  The  artist  stands  amidst  the  broken  columns  and  dis 
jointed  arches  of  a  villa,  beautiful  in  its  ruin,  even  as  man  in  his  lull. 
He  overlooks  the  blue  sea.  There  is  an  unwonted  blending  of  light 
and  shadow  on  earth,  wave  and  sky.  Light  and  shadow  ?  Rather 
lights  and  shadow ;  for  two  lights  reveal  a  scene  of  loveliness  and 
terror.  Yon  red  and  lurid  light  bursts  from  the  top  of  jEtna  in 
eruption.  Yon  white  and  tranquil  light  gleams  from  the  moon, 
through  rolling  clouds  of  smoke — gleams  in  broken  silver  on  the 
wave,  on  the  ruin,  against  the  lining  of  the  cloud,  and  mingling  with 
the  lurid  blaze,  bepaints  the  mountain  sides,  the  half-hid  villages  by 
the  shore,  and  interpenetrates  the  moving  masses  of  smoke,  which 
the  sea-breeze  bears  away  from  the  peak  to  the  inland.  The  chaste 
light  of  heaven  thus  blends  with  the  impure  fires  of  earth,  as  the 
good  struggles  with  the  evil. 

Lo !  ships  skim  the  sea,  full-rigged  and  swift ;  for  interchange 
goes  on  amidst  the  elemental  strife.  In  the  light  which  fills  the  rents 
of  the  ruin,  in  the  foreground,  sits  a  rustic  maiden  in  picturesque 
white  boddice  and  scarlet  kirtle,  blushing  at  the  tale  of  love  whis 
pered  by  the  shepherd  at  her  side ;  for  love  survives,  though  polluted 
Pompeiis  perish  !  The  fire-mount  rises  from  the  sea,  whose  waves. 
moonlit  and  musical,  spring  to  kiss  its  throbbing  feet  and  cool  its 
raging  fire ;  for  joy  is  not  wholly  hushed  by  the  earthquake  which 
"  smacks  its  rumbling  lips,!'  eager  to  devour.  The  lights  reveal, 
imidst  the  villages  and  through  the  smoke,  many  a  spire  of  GOD'S 
'.hurch,  pointing  with  silent  emphasis  upward. 

But  a  pall  overhangs  the  picture;  yet  through  it  the  allegory 
ihines.  The  shadow  of  evil  beclouds  human  destiny,  yet  through  it 
we  see  commerce  knitting  man  to  man  by  the  amenities  of  inter 
course  ;  love  blending  heart  to  heart  by  her  solaces  of  sweetness ; 
joy  making  music  on  the  sands  of  time  ;  and  religion  pointing  out 
the  path  of  aspiration  to  a  better  home,  where  throes  of  earth  and 


THE    SATANIC    IN    LITERATURE.  417 

the  temptations  of  Satan  come  nevermore !     Through  it  shines  the 
queen  of  heaven,  serene  as  faith,  and  beautiful  as  hope. 

^Etna's  fires  grow  dim  before  the  rising  day,  but  that  queen  of 
heaven,  untainted  by  its  impurity,  sails  away  to  smile  on  other  lands. 
The  morning  shows  but  the  ashes  of  the  wasted  energies  of  the 
night  of  boding.  Wasted  ?  Oh  !  no ;  for  even  its  ashes  may  fruc 
tify  the  earth  ;  and  it  is  well  said,  that  in  the  ploughing  of  the  earth 
quake,  even  as  in  the  ploughing  of  grief,  wrought  by  temptations,  is 
the  agriculture  of  GOD.  Without  it  no  rich  immortal  vintage  can  be 
gathered.  And  trials  and  temptations  of  the  evil  spirit,  and  the 
literature  which  enshrines  it,  may  last,  like  ^Etna's  fire,  for  a  night ; 
but  hopefully  the  heart  yearns  for  the  joy  which  cometh  in  the 
morning ! 


"REACH  with  your  whiter  hands  to  ino 
The  crystal  of  the  spring,"  etc.  HKRKICK. 

0  LATICE  ex  ilia  si  jam  mihi  virgine,  lympha 

Candida  tendatur  candidiore  manu ! 
Frotinus,  hoc  facto,  pateram  circumque  superque 

Lilia  conspiciara  fiorida  vere  suo. 

A.ut  tandem  hoc,  Nymphse,  mihi  cedite  saepe  precanti 

Pocula  tarn  dulci  tangite  clara  labro; 
Et,  simul  ac  vestris  aqua  sit  conjuncta  labellis, 

Flumine  mutato  rebor  adesse  meram. 


prge,  at  t|p  ftgfc  rf  "$m 


ROCKWELL. 


,  he  but  sleeps : 


If  he  be  gone,  he  '11  make  his  grave  a  bed." 

THOU  art  gone  to  thy  rest !  —  like  the  wind  of  the  ocean, 
That  dies  on  the  breast  of  the  blue  heaving  wave, 

So  with  thee  life  hath  passed  with  its  storm}'-  commotion, 
And  the  last  beams  of  sunset  are  bright  on  thy  grave. 

Sweet  sunset !  how  oft  with  thy  radiant  ringers 
Thou  shalt  touch  the  sweet  blossoms  we  strew  on  his  tomb, 

While  the  red-breast  near  by  in  the  forest-top  lingers, 
And  warbles  his  dirge  in  the  soft  evening  gloom ! 

Yet  it  is  not  unmeet  that  thou  com'st  near  his  dwelling, 
O'erarch'd  by  the  sweet  sod,  so  fresh  and  so  green, 

While  the  mild  evening  wind  from  the  valley  is  swelling, 
And  the  haze-mantled  forests  look  down  on  the  scene. 

Nor  unwelcome  thy  song,  little  bird  in  the  willow ! 

Who  sing'st  here  so  sweetly  at  night-fall  and  dawn ; 
For  a  fair  head  below  lieth  cold  on  its  pillow, 

And  one  half  of  life's  glory  and  beauty  is  gone  ! 

Sing  on,  happy  bird !  —  while  the  night,  fast  descending. 

Shuts  in  on  the  forest,  and  deepens  its  gloom: 
The  sigh  of  the  breeze  with  thy  sweet  warble  blending 

Shall  make  me  still  linger  and  muse  at  his  tomb. 


4*20  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Oh !  what  in  my  heart  do  these  voices  awaken, 
That  bids  me  look  up  from  life's  toil  and  unrest 

To  that  home  where  the  weary,  and  sad,  and  forsaken, 
Are  glad  in  the  beautiful  land  of  the  blest  ? 

And  why,  when  each  day  brings  a  darker  to-morrow, 
Doth  the  path  seem  so  bright  that  my  darling  hath  trod, 

If  it  be  not  that  we,  in  life's  moments  of  sorrow, 
Learn  to  humble  the  spirit  and  lean  upon  GOD? 


Curt  fiston  0f  tin  initei  States, 


IN    THE    HEBRAIC    MANNER. 


LV     IIKXKY     K.    SCIIOOLORA1T. 


1.  IN  the  year  1776  of  the  LORD'S  advent,  the  people  rebelled 
against  England,  and  against  all  her  lords  and  counsellors,  and  the 
LORD  prospered  it,  and  caused  it  to  be  successful,  seeing  that  it  would 
be  for  the  benefit  of  the  people  on  each  side  of  the  great  waters, 
even  of  the  Atlantic  sea,  which  divides  the  Old  from  the  New  World  ; 
and  for  the  advancement  of  the  cause  of  truth ;  and  for  the  good  of 
mankind.     In 'this  great  war,  George  led  the  armies  of  the  thirteen 
tribes,  and  the  war  lasted  seven  years. 

2.  And  the  people,  when  they  had  accomplished  the  rebellion, 
and  made  it  sure,  formed  a  league  and  set  up  a  government,  saying. 
We  will  be  united  henceforth  for  ever,  and  will  help  each  other  in 
peace  and  war.     And  after  twelve  years  of  the  league  had  passed, 
they  made  a  firmer  and  a  broader  league,  and  wrote  a  new  frame  of 
government,  and  set  up  a  great  commonwealth.    And  when  they  had 
finished  it,  and  put  their  names  to  it,  they  chose  George  to  rule  over 
them  in  peace,  for  he  had  led  them  wisely  and  prudently  in  war. 
And  he  ruled  over  them  eight  years ;  doing,  at  all  times,  that  which 
was  well-pleasing,  just,  and  right.     And  he  sought  peace  of  days  in 
his  own  house,  where  he  died,  saying,  Stand  fast  in  these  things,  and 
let  them  not  slip,  and  remember  the  LORD  who  hath  helped  us.    And 
all  the  people  mourned  with  sincere  mourning ;  and  they  respected 
his  memory,  as  they  had  respected  him,  while  living,  and  while  lead- 


422  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

ing  their  armies  in  battle,  and  in  governing  their  councils  in  peace. 
Thirteen  tribes  were  there  when  George  began  the  government,  and 
Vermont,  Kentucky,  and  Tennessee  were  added  in  his  days. 

3.  And  they  raised  a  monument  of  hewn  stones  to  his  memory, 
because  he  had  been  a  just  and  wise  man,  and  a  leader  of  his  people 
in  troublesome  times.     And  the  people  of  all  the  tribes,  who  had 
greatly  multiplied  in  the  land,  contributed  stones  to  this  monument ; 
and  they  engraved  on  the  stones,  "  GEORGE,  first  in  war,  first  in  peace, 
and  first  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen."   So  was  he  gathered  to  his 
fathers, 

4.  Now  when  George  had  finished  his  reign,  and  laid  down  the 
sword  of  power,  the  people  called  John  to  be  their  leader.     He  was 
a  bold  man,  who  had  raised  his  voice  for  the  rebellion,  and  stood  by 
it,  and  he  had  spoken  good  and  firm  words  of  truth  therein,  to 
encourage  the  people,  and  to  lead  them  to  go  forward.     Neither  did 
threats  appal  him,  or  cause  his  heart  to  flag,  and  he  stood  close  by 
George,  and  was  one  of  his  chief  elders  and  counsellors.     Neverthe 
less  he  had  some  misgivings  of  the  wild  murmurings  of  the  people 
of  the  Old  World,  which  he  heard,  as  a  gathering  tempest,  across  the' 
great  waters.     And  he  sought  to  sustain  and  strengthen  himself,  in 
holding  up  firmly  the  sceptre  of  the  government.    Yet  did  he  nothing 
that  it  forbid,  being  a  patriot  all   his  days.     But  the  people  took 
umbrage  at  his  acts,  after  he  had  ruled  four  years.    And  he  passed 
the  days  of  his  declining   years   in   peace   and  serenity,  amid  the 
vineyards  of  his  fathers,  respected  by  all,  and  beholding,  with  a  calm 
brow,  the  spreading  and  growth  of  the  league  of  the  people. 

5.  Then  called  the  people  Thomas,  who  had  been  the  chief  scribe 
of  John,  to  rule  over  them,  and  he  ruled  eight  years ;  and  it  became 
a  saying  from  that  time  that  eight  years  was  the  term  of  approbation 
of  a  faithful  ruler.     His  rule  was  pleasing  to  those  who  had  caused 
the  rebellion,  and  to  all  the  tribes  and  nations  of  people,  who  desired 
that  no  heavier  burthens  should  be  laid  on  one  man's  shoulders  than 
another.     For  he  had  written  sound  and  true  words  on  this  subject, 
and  the  thirteen  tribes  had  made  a  notable  declaration  of  them  to  the 
world. 

6.  Thomas  trusted  in  the  principles  of  the  frame  of  government, 


A    CURT    HISTORY    OF    THE    UNITED    STATES.  423 

and  in  the  people  to  maintain  it.  Yet  not  by  wars,  for  he  was  a  man 
of  peace,  and  sought  to  multiply  knowledge.  In  his  days  the  nations 
of  the  old  world  rose  up  against  their  rulers,  and  overturned  thrones 
not  a  few ;  raging  with  the  violence  of  a  storm.  He  mingled  not  in 
these  wars,  as  George  had  counselled,  and  kept  his  ships  from  the 
seas,  though  many 'of  his  people  wished  to  lade  them  with  bread,  and 
carry  it  into  the  gates  of  foreign  cities.  In  his  reign  was  Louisiana 
purchased,  and  Ohio  added  to  our  circle  of  States. 

7.  When  Thomas  had  finished  his  course,  and  the  eight  years 
were  ended,  the  people  called  James  the  civilian ;  and  he  found  a 
time  of  trouble.     In  his  days  the  Lion  of  England  spoke  proud, 
swelling  words,  haling  men  by  the  hair  of  the  head  from  the  ships 
that  carried  bread  over  the  ocean.     James  and  his  scribes  and  elders 
then  stamped  on  the  ground,  and  he  ordered  the  sword  of  George  to 
be  drawn  from  its  scabbard. 

8.  Then  war  raged  for  the  space  of  two  years  and  six  months ;  for 
the  Lion  again  asserted  his  right  to  the  land  and  to  the  government 
which  had  been  wrested  away  by  rebellion ;   and  he  sent  ships  and 
armies  to  burn  our  cities  with  fire,  and  lay  waste  the  land.     For  he 
had  not  forgotten  the  great  and  terrible  rebellion ;  and  he  roared  out 
loud  and  unjust  words  in  council ;  and  by  them  placed,  as  it  were, 
chains  of  iron  in  the  seas. 

9.  He  also  spoke  to  the  sons  of  Shem,  who  stood  with  bows  and 
spears  in  their  hands,  in  the  forests,  and  they  fell  with  fury  on  the 
borders,  and  wrenched  off  the  bloody  scalps  of  men  and  women, 
raising  horrible  cries  to  please  the  Lion. 

10.  These  were  the  days  of  trial,  and  of  searchings,  and  of  blood  ; 
army  fighting  against  army,  and  navy  against  navy.     And  it  fell  out 
that  a  man  named  Isaac,  in  a  stout  ship,  mastered  one  of  the  Lion's 
ships,  and  shot  cannon-balls  through  her  sides,  and  sunk  her  ;  and 
other  ship-masters  of  the  commonwealth  did  the  same,  and  the  mis 
tress  of  the  ocean  was  shaken. 

11.  In  these  days  also  rose  another  great  ruler  among  the  nations 
on  the  other  side  of  the  water,  called  Napoleon,  who  executed  the 
wrath  of  GOD  upon  unjust  kings  and  potentates,  whom  he  seized  by  the 
neck  and  stamped  on,  and  overthrew  their  governments,  and  entered 


424 


KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 


their  cities  with  banners,  and  exercised  authority  exceedingly  between 
seas  and  seas.  He  reigned  about  twelve  years,  more  or  less,  till  he 
had  accomplished  his  end,  when  GOD  began  to  loosen  his  hold  on  the 
nations,  by  covering  him  and  his  large  armies  in  snows ;  and  he  after 
ward  shut  him  up  on  an  island  in  the  sea,  and  then  loosed  him  a 
little  to  fight  the  Lion  and  the  down-trodden  kings ;  when  he  again 
shut  him  up  on  another  island,  in  another  far-off  sea,  where  he  died. 
Now,  this  man  had  also  spoken  proud  words  against  James  the 
civilian,  and  against  Thomas,  his  predecessor,  at  Berlin  and  at  Milan  ; 
and  he  cast  proud  glances  across  the  water  at  Thomas  and  at  James 
the  civilian,  and  their  government,  albeit  he  sold  to  Thomas,  for  a 
possession,  Louisiana,  and  took  the  value  thereof  in  silver,  weighed 
in  the  scales. 

12.  So  died  the  great  disturber  of  nations,  who  had  been  a  rod  in 
the  hands  of  the  ALMIGHTY,  and  a  leveller  and  a  preparer  of  ways  for 
the  chariot  of  events,  albeit  the  nations  acknowledged  it  not.     And 
after  his  fall  there  prevailed  peace  in  the  world — a  great  and  notable 
peace  —  as  it  is  at  this  day.     And  the  Lion  of  England  made  peace 
with  James  the  civilian,  and  left  him  his  borders  to  the  utmost,  and 
all  his  forests,  which  were  filled  with  the  sons  of  Shem  ;  nor  would 
•James  admit  these  into  the  writing  of  a  treaty  which  he  made  at 
Ghent,  though  strongly  urged  by  the  Lion ;  for  James  said,  With  a 
cruel  and  bloody  hand  have  they  wielded  the  arrow,  and  the  club,  and 
knife  against  me,  and  have  unjustly  sided  with  the  Lion ;  and  to  me 
only  shall  they  bow,  and  with  me  make  the  peace.     And  my  name 
and  the  name  of  my  land  is  the  Eagle,  and  with  my  strong  wings 
will  I  cover  the  land,  and  all  the  seas  and  mountains  thereof;  and 
with  my  claws  and  my  beak  will  I  defend  it  against  the  Lion. and 
against  the  sons  of  Shem,  and  against  all  nations. 

13.  Eight  years  had  James  the  civilian  ruled,  and  his  days  were 
called  the  days  of  vindication,  for  he  had  conquered  the  country 
anew,  and  established  its  liberties ;  and  his  ships  and  armies  had 
gained  credit,  which  gave  him  a  name  over  the  nation.     And  Louisi 
ana  assumed  its  manhood  and  became  a  State,  and  Indiana  did  like 
wise,  and  the  Union  grew. 

14.  Then  the  people  assembled  together  again  and  chose  James 


A    CURT    HISTORY    OF    THE    UNITED    STATES.  425 

the  soldier  to  govern  them.  And  his  reign  was  the  reign  of  peace, 
hi  it  the  nation  began  to  grow  and  to  extend  its  borders  into  the 
lands  of  the  sons  of  Shem,  and  into  the  valley  of  the  mighty  river, 
even  the  river  whose  outflow  and  course  the  ocean  can  not  arrest, 
pouring  out  thick  floods  of  water,  mixed  with  earth,  and  trees,  and 
drowned  beasts.  Then,  also,  knowledge  was  increased,  and  plenty 
rewarded  the  labors  of  men.  The  axe  was  lifted  against  the  thick 
trees,  and  the  ploughshare  driven  through  valleys.  And  the  sons  of 
Shem  were  advised  to  do  the  same  labors,  and  to  drop  the  bow,  and 
to  dwell  in  fixed  houses,  and  forsake  evil  spirits  and  worship  JEHOVAH. 
And  to  this  end  peace  was  made  with  them,  and  a  place  was  assigned 
to  them,  even  a  colony. 

15.  Eight  years  ruled  James  the  soldier.     In  his  days  Missis 
sippi,  and  Illinois,  and  Missouri,  and  Alabama  were  added  to  our 
borders ;  and  it  was  a  time  of  rest,  and  of  ceasing  from  strifes  and 
divisions  of  men,  and  the  people  greatly  multiplied  and  prospered. 

16.  After  this  the  people  called  John  the  son  of  John  to  rule  over 
them ;  and  Harry  of  the  West  was  his  scribe.     Now  John  had  been 
the  chief  scribe  of  James  the  soldier,  and  he  was  a  ready  writer,  and 
understood  the  method  of  the  government.     He  ruled  four  years ; 
and  in  his  days  peace  continued,  and  the  nation  increased  in  wealth 
and  strength.     His  ships  went  to  every  part  of  the  world,  and  they 
returned  loaded  with  the  products  of  foreign  lands.     And  he  sent 
ambassadors  to  Panama,  for  Harry  had  advocated  the  cause  of  those 
lands  and  peoples,  for  they  would  be  free. 

17.  And  when  John  the  son  of  John,  had  finished  his  course,  the 
people  chose  Andrew  to  the  government.     Andrew  was  a  man  of  a 
stout  will  and  a  strong  mind,  ruling  men  with  vigor  and  with  fear. 
He  governed  the  land  eight  years,  and  they  were  years  of  great  ex 
citements  and  overturnings  of  opinion,  but  of  great  prosperity.     The 
enlargement  of  the  cultivated  borders,  under  the  hands  of  art  and 
industry,  which  had  been  commenced  under  James  and  under  John 
the  son  of  John,  continued  and  increased,  and  the  treasury  overflowed. 
Money  became  as  plenty  as  iron,  and  the  people  were  surfeited  with 
prospects  of  wealth. 

18.  And  the  people  liked  Andrew.     He  knocked  shackles  from 


426  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

commerce,  and  made  it  free.  He  also  overthrew  the  treasuries  of 
paper-money,  and  gathered  the  silver  and  gold  into  separate  treasu 
ries,  and  put  faithful  men  over  them,  to  see  that  there  was  no  waste. 
He  made  the  land  of  Napoleon  pay  for  the  proud  words  spoken  by 
that  proud  man,  at  Berlin  and  at  Milan,  holding  up  the  truncheon  of 
his  power  with  great  authority.  He  caused  one  of  the  tribes  of  the 
Eagle  family,  which  had  faltered  in  a  certain  particular,  to  walk  up 
and  tighten  her  hold  on  the  national  chain. 

19.  In  Andrew's  days  large  spaces  of  the  wilderness  were  pos 
sessed,  and  ploughed  with  the  plough  ;  Michigan  and  Arkansas  arising 
and  saying,  We,  too,  will  join  the  league,  and  they  joined  it ;  and  the 
sons  of  Shem,  whom  James  had  kindly  and  wisely  advised,  gathered 
he  together,  from  their  wayfaring  positions,  and  sent  them  to  a  terri 
tory  and  a  colony,  west  of  the  great  river,  where  they  might  till  the 
land  and  become  followers  of  the  plough  and  dressers  of  vines,  and 
keep  cattle.     And  Andrew  died  after  he  had  gone  home  to  his  own 
house,  even  the  Hermitage,  praising  GOD,  and  telling  his  household 
and  servants  of  His  goodness. 

20.  Then  called  the  people  Martin  to  rule  over  them,  and  he 
ruled  four  years.     Martin  was  a  civilian  of  great  foresight  and  know 
ledge,  and   subtlety  in  affairs.     He  had  been  the  chief  scribe  of 
Andrew,  and  had  served  him  at  the  court  of  the  Lion,  and  he  carried 
out  the  principles  of  Andrew  respecting  the  method  of  the  govern 
ment.     He  continued  the  treasuries  of  hard  money,  and   left  the 
ships  of  the  merchants  free  to  sail,  and  fetch  and  carry  whatsoever 
they  would.     And  the  people  traded  exceedingly,  and  they  also  put 
high  values  on  all  lands  and  houses,  and  every  thing  whatsoever,  inso 
much  that  there  was  a  great  reaction,  and  revulsion,  and  outcry 
among  the  merchants  and  the  artizans,  for  much  money  had  made 
the  people  mad. 

21.  In  Martin's   days,  the  provinces   of  the  Lion   toward   the 
North  rebelled,  and  there  were  battles,  and  there  was  bloodshed, 
men  being  hanged,  and  a  ship  pitched  over  the  great  Falls ;  and  they 
sought  to  entangle  him  and  his  'government  in  this  rebellion.    But  he 
stoutly  resisted  it,  and  sent  Winfield,  the  captain  of  the  host,  to  keep 
peace  on  the  borders,  and   to   restrain   the  violence ;    and   it  was 


A    CURT    HISTORY    OF    THE    UNITED    STATES.  427 

restrained.     And  our  borders  were  enlarged  by  -Iowa,  one  of  the 
growing  tribes  of  the  Eagle. 

22.  And  the  people  laid  the  sins  of  Andrew  at  the  door  of  Mar 
tin,  saying,  that  both  these  had  too  much  slackened  the  cords  that 
bind  men  in  the  traces ;  and  there  was  a  vast  commotion  of  opinions, 
which  heaved  like  a  tempest  of  the  sea,  and  parties  were  broken  up, 
and  the  people  marched  with  drums,  and  banners,  and  songs,  and 
shoutings;    and   the   shoutings   prevailed,  and  they  chose   William 
Henry  to  the  government. 

23.  Now  William  Henry  was  an  aged  man  and  feeble  of  body, 
but  the  people  clave  to  him  because  he  had  fought  well,  in  former 
years,  against  the  Lion,  and  against  the  sons  of  Shem,  whom  he  had 
overthrown  in  a  great  battle,  and  killed  their  great  chief  (Tecumseh) 
with  the  sword.     And  when  he  had  set  his  feet  in  the  White  House, 
which  is  the  "  Shushan"  of  the  people,  they  thronged  greatly  upon 
him  and  pressed  him  sorely  for  places  in  the  treasure-houses  and  in 
all  posts  of  power  and  influence,  so  that  his  frame  shook  with  the 
continuous  appeals  and  graspings  of  hands,  and  he  fell  sick  and  died. 

24.  Thirty  days  only  had  William  Henry  ruled  when  he  died. 
And  the  custom  of  the  government  called  John,  the  Tilite  who  sat 
near  William,  to  step  in  his  place,  and  to  exercise  the  powers  thereof, 
during  the  rest  of  the  time  for  which  the  people  had  called  William 
Henry. 

25.  Now  John  the  Tilite  was  a  man  of  words  without  stability  ; 
and  the  tempest  of  opinion  which  had  brought  him  up  raged  yet 
more  and  more.     It  drew,  as  it  were  from  the  depths  of  the  sea, 
mud  and  slime,  and  all  manner  of  creeping  things,  and  John  crowned 
them  with  power,  saying,  "  Be  rulers  of  ten,  and  twenty,"  and  they 
ruled.    And  the  land  was  vexed,  and  troubled  sore,  for  the  remaining 
space  of  three  years  and  eleven  months  that  remained  of  William 
Henry.     And  he  stood  aghast  all  his  days,  saying,  What  shall  I  do 
with  this  great  people,  and  how  shall  I  get  bread  to  satisfy  the  hunger 
of  so  many  1    And  he  fed  them,  sometimes  with  crumbs,  and  some 
times  with  loaves,  and  he  satisfied  them  not.     He  also  continued 
Daniel,  the  scribe,  whom  William  had  called,  and  afterward,  when 
Daniel  went  to  his  own  house  to  abide  there,  he  chose  Caldwell,  a 


428  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

wise  man  from  the  South,  to  fill  his  place.  Through  Caldwell's 
influence  much  good  was  done.  In  his  day  Texas  was  added  to  the 
land,  and  he  gave  continually  wise  counsel  to  maintain  the  treasury 
of  silver  and  gold,  and  to  keep  the  seas  open,  and  leave  every  State 
its  just  rights,  and  every  man  his  reserved  privileges.  For  he  was  not 
a  time-server  and  zealous  of  the  rights  of  States,  and  they  called  him 
the  "  Nullifier."'  And  in  his  days  joined  Florida,  and  Wisconsin,  and 
Texas  the  league. 

26.  Then  gave  the  people  out  lots  between  Harry  of  the  West 
and  James  the  Third ;  and  the  lot  fell  on  James  the  Third,  a  civil 
ian  from  the  country  where  Andrew  had   risen,  even  Tennessee ; 
and  James  ruled  four  years.     In  his  days  sought  the  Lion  to  cur 
tail  our  borders,  on  the  west,  along  the  great  sea,  even  in  Oregon ; 
and  the  waves  of  opinion  heaved  heavily,  with  the  people  saying, 
•'  We  will  have  a  great  line,  even  54°  40' ;"  but  in  the  end  James 
accepted  a  small  line,  as  Daniel  the  scribe  had  done  aforetime,  in  the 
days  of  John  the  Tilitc,  on  the  north-east  border ;  and  the  writing 
of  a  treaty  was  also  made  with  the  Lion,  touching  the  extreme 
western  border,  and   that  border  was  fixed  and  established.     Yet 
had  the  land  no  rest,  for  there  arose  a  great  cloud  in  the  South,  and 
trouble  on  the  southern  border,  where  the  sons  of  Shem  had  had  a 
great  kingdom,  and  offered  idolatrous  sacrifices  to  the  sun  and  to  the 
great  god  of  war,  Huitzelapochtli.      And  Lopez   rose  up,  saying, 
"  Thou  hast  stolen  away  my  vineyards  and  fields,  even  Texas,  and  I 
will  smite  thee  with  armies."     And  Lopez  was  a  cruel  man,  shooting 
prisoners  in  cold  blood,  and  vaunting  vehemently. 

27.  And  the  armies  of  Shem  and  of  the  south  country,  led  by 
Lopez  and  by  vain  persons,  crossed  the  borders  and  vaunted  them 
selves  ;  and  they  were  met  by  the  armies  of  Samuel  of  Texas,  and  by 
the  armies  of  James,  led  by  two  valiant  captains  of  the  host,  even 
Zachary  and  Winfield,  and  they  were  utterly  discomfited  and  over 
thrown,  battle  on  battle,  with  a  heavy  slaughter,  and  driven  back 
even  to  their  chief  city,  which  was  taken  and  conquered,  and  the 
whole  land  subdued.     Then  made  the  chief  of  that  land  terms  of  a 
treaty,  and  ran  the  lines  of  it  from  the  riv-er  to  the  great  hinder  sea, 
and  it  was  made  sure  to  James  and  his  people,  so  that  the  rule  of 


A    CURT    HISTORY    OF    THE    UNITED    STATES.  429 

James  was  very  prosperous,  and  the  country  grew,  and  the  people 
were  multiplied  exceedingly,  and  our  borders  were  greatly  enlarged 
on  the  south  and  west. 

28.  And  in  his  days  was  gold  discovered  in  the  country  of  one  of 
the  tribes,  even  in  California ;  and  it  was  found  in  great  abundance, 
and  continually,  so  that  Ophir  itself  could  not  exceed  it.     And  gold 
became  as  plenty  as  iron,  and  they  shipped  it  as  they  ship  bread,  and 
the  country  grew  and  prospered  in  all  things,  and  the  fame  of  it  went 
abroad  into  all  nations.     So  brought  James  the  period  of  his  rule  to 
a  close  with  great  gladness  and  rejoicings.     And  he  went  home  and 
died  at  peace  with  GOD. 

29.  Then  spake  they  of  Lewis  of  Michigan.     Now  Lewis  was  a 
man  brought  up  among  the  people,  and  he  was  wise  and  prudent, 
having  used  both  pen  and  sword  for  the  land,  wherefore  the  people 
demanded  him.     And  there  was  a  man  named  Zachary,  who  was 
brave  and  undaunted,  one  who  laughed  at  fear.     Now,  the  people 
ever  loved  a  man  who  had  fought  battles,  and  Zachary  was  a  soldier, 
rough  and  ready,  who  had  led  the  armies  of  James  in  the  field,  and 
conquered  the  enemy  both  on  the  plains  and  in  fenced  cities,  and  mas 
tered  them  mightily. 

30.  And  when  they  had  given  out  lots  between  Lewis   and 
Zachary,  the  lot  fell  to  Zachary ;  and  to  quit  himself  of  the  duties  of 
the  civilian,  he  chose  men  for  scribes,  of  every  sort,  who  understood 
the  manner  of  the  government.     Still  pressed  these  duties  heavily  on 
him,  for  in  his  days  rose  a  great  question  of  the  sons  of  Ham,  whom 
Japhet  held  in  bondage,  and  whom  certain  of  the  tribes  said,  Why 
keep  ye  them  in  bonds  ?  let  them  go  free.     And  when  a  year  and 
six  months  had  passed,  Zachary  fell  sick  and  died.     For  GOD  took 
him  away  from  a  dreadful  tumult  to  come,  and  from  civil  war. 

31.  Then  called  they,  for  so  was  the  custom  of  deaths,  Millard, 
his  right-hand  man,  who  sat  near  the  chief  ruler,  as  John  the  Tylite 
had,  and  he  served  the  remainder  of  the  time  of  Zachary,  even  two 
years  and  six  months.     In  his  time  was  the  question  of  the  sons  of 
Ham  made  great,  and  the  people  had  a  mind  to  settle  it,  and  they 
settled  it  after  great  and  angry  debate ;  and  so  it  was  that  nothing 
was  diminished  from  every  man's  right,  leaving  the  sons  of  Ham  in 


430 


KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 


a  mild  bondage,  where  aforetime  they  were  in  bondage,  and  free 
where  aforetime  they  were  free,  saying,  Let  the  new  territories  decide 
for  themselves,  for  the  people  could  not  otherwise  agree,  and  it  was  a 
question  which  threatened  the  stability  of  the  government.  In  his 
days  was  California  added  to  the  league,  and  the  people  grew. 

32.  During  the  rule  of  Millard  was  the  seventh  numbering  of  the 
people,  and  they  were  found  to  be  three  and  twenty  millions,  not 
counting  smaller  sums.     And  there  were  counted  three  millions  of 
the  sons  of  Ham,  but  the  descendants  of  Shem  numbered  they  not, 
for  they  were  wild  men,  and  dwelt  in  the  forests  with  bows  in  their 
hands.     Albeit  the  third  James  had  said  to  a  man  named  Henry,  Go 
number  them,  and  return  their  number  so  that  we  may  know  it.     In 
the  days  of  Millard  answered  the  said  Henry,  there  are  four  hundred 
thousand  of  the  sons  of  Shem,  and  the  numbering  is  not  finished,  and 
they  possess  a  wide  country  between  sea  and  sea,  even  millions  of 
squares,  with  mountains  and  fastnesses  and  plains,  and  they  are  a 
fierce  people ;  and  Millard  said,  Go  on,  number  them,  and  make  an 
end  of  it,  and  write  the  account. 

33.  Then  the  people,  when  Millard's  time  drew  near,  assembled 
together  in  great  numbers,  abiding  in  one  place  for  many  days,  and 
there  were  great  searchings  to  find  a  man  to  be  put  in  the  govern 
ment.     And  the  most  part  were  for  Lewis,  and  others  for  James  the 
Pennite,  and  for  William  of  York,  and  for  Stephen,  and  for  Daniel  of 
York,  and  for  Samuel.     Also  were  there  great  canvassings  for  Win- 
field  the  captain  of  the  host,  and  for  Millard,  who  still  ruled,  and  for 
Daniel  the  Scribe.     But  they  chose  Franklin  of  the  Granite  State, 
whose  father  had  fought  in  the  Rebellion ;  for  they  said,  He  is  both  a 
civilian  and  a  soldier, -who  undcrstandeth  the  manner  of  the  govern 
ment,  and  he  will  firmly  stand  by  the  Compromise  which  is  made 
respecting  the  sons  of  Ham. 

34.  And  Franklin  called  William  of  York  to  be  his  chief  scribe, 
and  the  country  prospered  and  grew.    His  ships  went  freely  to  every 
land,  and  gold,  which  had  been  found  in  the  time  of  James  the  Third, 
continued  to  be  dug  up,  as  stones  and  iron  are  dug,  and  it  was  sent 
across  the  waters  to  foreign  nations  as  bread.     And  no  country  hath 
ever  prospered  in  this  manner,  since  the  Lord  established  Israel  in  the 


A    CURT    HISTORY    OF    THE    UNITED    STATES.  431 

promised  land.  For  the  name  of  JEHOVAH  and  the  MESSIAH  of  GOD 
is  called  on  in  all  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land.  There  is  no 
land  that  has  prospered  like  this  land,  and  no  people  who  have  multi 
plied  and  prospered  like  this  people ;  for  the  LORD  hath  a  favor  unto 
them,  because  they  serve  and  praise  him.  This  is  the  history  of 
eight  and  seventy  years,  and  they  have  been  years  of  increase.  Thir 
teen  tribes  have  multiplied  into  one  and  thirty,  and  three  millions  of 
souls  into  three  and  twenty  millions.  And  they  retain  their  integrity 
still,  as  when  they  came  over  the  sea,  when  they  fled  from  the  sym 
bolic  Babylon,  singing  praises  to  GOD,  and  trusting  in  him  while  they 
laid  their  hands  on  the  plough,  and  scattered  the  seed  in  the  ground. 
Every  man  here  standeth  on  his  own  legs  and  his  own  feet,  with  none 
to  lay  unequal  burdens  on  his  shoulders  or  make  him  afraid,  but  he 
truly  liveth  by  his  own  vine  and  fig-tree.  Every  man  also  lifteth  up 
his  soul  and  his  voice  to  GOD,  without  any  name  or  power  standing 
between  him  and  his  MAKER,  but  the  Great  MESSIAH  of  GOD,  who  is 
CHRIST,  whom  he  hath  predestined  for  this  very  office.  It  is  no  longer 
necessary  to  go  to  Gerazim  or  Jerusalem  to  worship,  for  the  veil  of 
the  temple  is  rent  asunder  indeed,  and  the  Gerazim  and  the  Jerusa 
lem  of  GOD  is,  in  these  latter  days,  in  every  believer's  heart.  Tell 
me,  where  hath  there  been  such  a  people  and  such  a  country,  and 
what  is  the  name  of  it  ? 


r 

(fa  UuL., 


"THOTT  shalt  not  kill." 

HOLY  is  human  life ;  a  mystery 

Beyond  the  surgeon's  ken,  the  sage's  thought 
Whence  comes  it  ?     Why  and  whither  doth  it  flee  ? 

Science  in  vain  its  secret  haunt  hath  sought ; 
Its  mystic  errand  Nature  never  taught; 

Man  knows  not  even  what  bids  those  heart-springs  move 
By  which  life's  current  through  his  frame  is  wrought ; 

Yet,  guiltily  presumptuous,  looks  above, 
And  dares  GOD'S  heart  to  search,  GOD'S  attributes  to  prove ! 

Can  the  white  hand  of  pure  and  holy  Eight 

Be  in  the  hue  of  human  slaughter  dyed? 
Can  Piety  a  pretext  find  to  smite, 

Making  libation  of  the  gashed  heart's  tide  ? 
What  right  to  quench  that  flame  to  HEAVEN  allied, 

Which  earth  can  ne'er  relume  ?     Could  human  deed 
Have  driven  our  Saviour  to  a  homicide  ? 

Dread  should  the  danger  be,  and  dire  the  need 
That  asks  one  sacred  life,  or  bids  a  nation  bleed. 


Accurst  the  miscreant,  whose  spider  care 
Weaves  o'er  a  people's  fate  the  web  of  war  I 

Too  cold  to  pity,  and  too  base  to  dare, 
He  gloats  o'er  Murder's  revel  from  afar : 

Selfish,  impassive,  't  is  his  part  to  tar 
28 


434  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Men's  passions  on  to  crime ;  till,  axle-deep 
In  human  gore,  they  drive  the  conqueror's  car, 

And  call  it  Glory !     Can  the  monster  sleep  ? 
Mads  he  not,  as  hot  waves  of  blood  his  couch  o'erleap  ? 

Still  guiltier,  baser,  see  the  Duel  ape 

The  strife  of  realms  I     "With  ceremony  due, 
His  friends  —  his  friends !  —  the  formal  folly  shape, 

And  give  it  murder's  form  and  murder's  hue : 
They  phrase  it  honor !     Honor  never  knew 

The  idiot  crime ;  but,  wise  and  pure  and  brave, 
Is  ever  unto  GOD  and  duty  true : 

'Tis  Fashion's  law  —  the  breath  of  sot  and  knave;* 
Fashion,  the  fool's  God,  frowns;  he  dies,  its  coward  slave! 

'T  is  guiltiest,  for  Self-murder  adds  its  guilt ; 

And  Time  and  Thought  and  Sleep  against  it  plead; 
The  gentle  sleep  whose  dreams,  ere  blood  is  spilt, 

Hear  angels  whisper,  Dare  not  do  this  deed  ! 
For  't  is  not  Passion  bids  the  victim  bleed ; 

And  oft  the  murderer  slays  when  loth  to  kill. 
Not  erring  Nature,  Hate,  nor  Rage,  nor  Need, 

His  wretched  plea :  he  goes,  in  conscious  ill, 
Defying  GOD  and  man,  a  felon's  grave  to  fill. 

'T  is  basest,  for  not  willingly  he  goes, 

That  whipped  and  trembling  thrall  of  sordid  fear ; 
(Save  when  the  dark  life-gamester  deftly  throws 

The  loaded  dice  of  death ;  whose  life  's  a  sneer, 
Whose  wine  is  blood,  whose  banquet-board  the  bier : 

The  licensed  bravo,  with  his  heart  of  hate, 
And  eye  of  snake,  who  kills  with  jocund  jeer, 

And  lives  to  kill:  fiends  on  his  triumphs  wait, 
And  own,  abashed,  their  lord  and  master,  not  their  mate!) 

'T  is  basest,  for  not  willingly  he  goes, 

But  lashed  by  fears  that  wisdom  would  deride  ; 

Not  fears  of  life  nor  law,  of  friends  nor  foes, 
Of  conscience  outraged,  nor  of  virtuous  pride. 

*  THE  Law  of  Honor  is  constructed  by,  and  for  the  use  of,  people  of  fashion.— Dr.  Paley's 
Moral  Philosophy. 


THE    DUELLIST.  435 

What  then  ?     What  can  the  driveller  dread  beside  ? 

A  sneer !     From  whom  ?     Fools  with  nor  heart  nor  brain, 
Whose  praise,  as  unto  infamy  allied, 

Ev'n  he  would  shrink  from  with  a  just  disdain ; 
And  yet  the  craven  bows,  and  basely  wears  their  chain ! 

The  voluntary  madman  dares  not  think ; 

From  that  dread  gulf  he  turns,  appalled,  away ; 
He  dares  not,  standing  on  the  dark  grave's  brink, 

And  self-divorced  from  heaven,  lie  dares  not  pray. 
He  asks  no  good  man's  blessing  on  that  day ; 

But  to  the  field,  with  guilty  stealth,  he  hies ; 
Brute  nerves  suffice  his  brutal  part  to  play. 

As  the  fool  dieth,  should  he  fall,  he  dies ; 
Or,  victor  (honor  all !)  he,  like  a  felon,  flies ! 

How  hath  the  mighty  fallen!*    His  country's  love, 

A  blissful  home,  ev'n  Virtue's  honest  scorn  ; 
All  could  not  lift  the  hero's  soul  above 

A  false  and  fatal  shame.     Well  might  he  mourn 
His  bride  and  babes,  left  stricken  and  forlorn ; 

His  cause  deserted,  and  his  country:  still 
He  left  the  fame  so  nobly  won  and  worn, 

Conscious  and  sad,  the  duellist's  grave  to  fill: 

False  honor's  loud  call  drowned  the  voice — TJwu  shall  not  kill! 

Thus  sank  the  star  that  from  our  country's  brow 

Beamed  with  immortal  radiance !     And  the  gain, 
What  was  it,  of  his  cold,  man-hating  foe  ? 

He  fled  from  infamy,  a  wandering  CAIN  ; 
His  life  a  torture,  and  his  name  a  stain  1 

When  will  true  Honor's  sons  to  teach  unite 
That  coward  Wrong  alone  incurs  disdain ; 

That  only  deeds  which  HEAVEN  approves  are  bright : 
That  courage  bides  with  Truth,  and  Honor  lives  in  Right ! 

PHILA.DEI.PIHA.,  September,  1854. 

*  ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 


Y  OBOKOK  WOOD. 


IN    THREE     SCENES. 


Mr.  CRUSTY,  an  old  bachelor. 
DIOK  DRIVER,  lover  of  SOPHY. 


Mrs.  LOVELY,  a  young  widovr. 
SOPHY,  maid  to  ME.  CRUSTY. 


SCENE     I. 

Mr.  CRUSTY  is  discovered  in  a  parlor,  reading  a  newspaper.    He  throws 
down  the  paper,  and  speaks : 

A  MISERABLE  set  of  scoundrels !  What  a  thin  veil  to  cover  over 
the  hook  this  is !  Alas ! 

"  THE  age  of  virtuous  politics  is  past, 
And  we  are  deep  in  that  of  mere  pretence ; 
Patriots  are  grown  too  old  to  be  sincere, 
And  we  too  wise  to  trust  them." 

[  Goes  to  the  window  and  looks  out, 

What  a  beautiful  night  it  is !  What  a  jingling  of  sleigh-bells,  and 
what  a  scene  of  gladness  in  the  streets !  And  here  I  am,  an  old  bache 
lor,  confined  by  rheumatism,  solitary  and  alone.  That  was  a  most 
miserable  mistake  I  made  twenty  years  ago,  not  to  have  secured  the 
love  of  some  loving  heart,  whose  presence  would  have  poured  a  flood 
of  light  into  the  depths  of  my  darkened  soul ;  and  here  I  am  at  the 


KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

disposal  of  that  young  gal  of  mine,  neglectful  of  me  because  her  head 
is  full  of  some  body  else.  Sophy!  Sophy  !  What  can  have  become 
of  the  gal?  [Looks  out  at  window.]  Ah!  there  she  is,  standing  on  the 
door-step,  bare-headed,  looking  up  and  down  for  that  harum-scarum 
lover  of  hers.  [.Raps  on  the  window.] 

Enter  SOPHY,  who  makes  ready  to  set  the  table. 

Why  is  my  dinner  delayed  ?  I  have  been  waiting  for  two  hours 
for  my  dinner.  What  am  I  to  have  ? 

SOPHY.  You  arc  to  have  no  dinner ;  the  doctor  said  you  must  diet 
yourself  upon  tea  and  toast. 

Mr.  C.  The  doctor  be  hanged!  I  won't  starve  to  please  him. 
Bring  me  up  that  cold  turkey  and  canvas-back  duck ;  roast  me  some 
potatoes;  make  me  some  toast  and  a  cup  of  strong  coffee. 

SOPHY.  It  can't  be.     The  doetor  must  be  obeyed. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Say  to  Doetor  Hall  1  "ve  changed  my  physician,  and 
have  called  in  Doctor  Green.  1  want  something  to  eat,  and  I  will 
have  it.  If  Allopathy  won't  give  me  h\>d.  Homeopathy  will. 

SOPHY.  You  must  be  content  for  to-night  with  tea-  and  toast,  for 
I  Ve  nothing  better  for  you. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Nothing  for  me !  Where  's  the  turkey  roasted  yes 
terday  !  Where  's  that  canvas-back  duck  the  widow  Simpkins  sent 
over  to  me  ?  I  hate  to  receive  her  gifts,  but  for  this  time  I  will  thank 
her  heartily.  Go !  bring  up  my  dinner.  Do  n't  delay  a  moment, 
[putting  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  hurrying  her  toward  the  door.] 

SOPHY  stops  at  the  door,  and,  turning  round,  says: 

You  can't  have  the  turkey,  nor  the  duck.  You  must  diet  for 
to-night,  any  how. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  I  will  have  it ! 

SOPHY.  You  can  "t  have  it ! 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Who  says  •  can  Y  to  me  ? 

SOPHY,  [with  a  low  curtsey]  I  say  it ;  and  for  sufficient  reasons. 
Old  Tom  came  in  and  ate  up  the  turkey  for  his  dinner ;  and  I  ate  the 
canvas-back  duck  for  mine ;  and  there  "s  nothing  left  for  you  but  what 
the  doctor  ordered  —  tea  and  toast,  [^Is/ifr.]  Master's  mad  as  a 
Maivh  hare !  [Exit 


A    CHARADE.  430 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Is  not  this  beyond  all  endurance?  And  yet  this 
wild  girl  is  the  most  kindly-disposed  servant  I  have  had  for  the  last 
two  years;  who  plunders  me  least,  and  sometimes  has  a  heart  of 
sympathy.  That  Dick  Driver  takes  up  too  much  of  her  time.  I 
must  marry  her  off;  I  see  that  clearly. 

The  bell  rings.     SOPHY  enters  and  says : 

Mrs.  Simpkins  has  called  over  to  see  Mr.  Crusty.  "What  shall  I 
say,  Sir  ? 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Tell  her  I  am  lying  down  before  the  fire,  in  great 
misery,  and  can  :t  see  her ;  and  when  she  goes  out,  bolt  the  door. 
Thank  her  for  the  duck  you  eat  for  rne,  you  minx. 

SOPHY  goes  out  and  says,  aside : 

Mad  still ! 

Mr.  CRUSTY,  [solus.']  Was  ever  such  a  wretched  man  as  I?  Left 
by  my  nieces  for  their  new-found  homes  and  husbands,  I  sit  here  for 
hours  alone,  with  no  body  to  care  for  me  but  this  gal,  who  conv-s 
between  me  and  all  the  nice  things  my  lady  friends  send  me  day  by 
day;  all  because  I  did  not  rnarry  at  twenty-five.  A  most  miserable 
mistake  I  have  made  of  it.  Alas  !  'tis  now  too  late. 

SOPHY  enters  with  tea  things  and  a  loaf  of  bread.     Mr.  CRUSTY  take* 
his  seat,  and  exclaims : 

And  is  this  all  ?     This  is  prisoner's  fare ! 

SOPHY.  And  are  you  not  a  prisoner1?    Have  n't  you  said  so,  a  hun 
dred  times  this  very  day  ? 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  What  sort  of  bread  is  this  1  [taking  up  the  loaf  and 
looking  at  it  angrily.'] 

SOPHY.  It  is  wheat  bread,  Sir.  I  bought  it  at  Mr.  Havennus'  for 
wheat. 

Mr.  CRUSTY,  \rising  in  a  rage.~\  I  tell  you  it  is  rye  bread. 

SOPHY.  I  say  it  is  not  rye. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Get  you  gone,  you  huzzy,  and  take  your  rye  bread 
with  you. 

Exit  SOPHY,  with  the  bread,  saying : 

It  is  not  rye,  if  I  die  for  't.     [AsideJ\  Is  n't  he  mad  ? 


440  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 


SCENE      II. 

Knter  DICK  DRIVER,  with  a  ivhip  in  his  hand,  a  box-coat  on,  and  a  cap 
in  his  hand,  with  SOPHY  following. 

DICK.  My  pretty  Sophy,  you  know  you  love  me,  and  why  do  you 
deny  it? 

SOPHY.  I  love  you !     Who  told  you  so  ? 

DICK.  You  told  me  so  with  your  own  sweet  lips. 

SOPHY.  Are  you  crazy  ?     I  never  told  you  so. 

DICK.  Do  you  deny  it  1  Do  you  forget  who  brought  you  home 
last  Sunday  night,  from  meeting  ?  and  after  I  had  eaten  supper  with 
you,  do  you  not  remember  that  you  went  with  me  to  the  back-door, 
and  just  before  you  unhasped  the  door,  that  I  put  my  arms  round 
your  waist,  and  —  you  kissed  me,  Sophy? 

SOPHY.  And  how  dare  you  remind  me  of  it,  if  I  did?  It  was 
unmaidenly  in  me  to  do  so,  and  it  is  most  impertinent  in  you  to  tell 
me  of  it. 

DICK.  Well,  Sophy,  I  did  n't  suppose  you  played  at  fast-and-loose 
with  any  one,  or  that  you  ever  gave  a  kiss  where  you  had  not  before 
given  your  love.  I  hate  a  flirt ! 

SOPHY.  What  did  you  come  here  for  ?  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  me  ? 

DICK.  No,  indeed,  I  did  not.  But  it  is  so  nice  a  night,  that  I 
thought  you  would  like  to  take  a  sleigh-ride  with  me,  and  it  was  to 
ask  you  I  came ;  but  no  matter ! 

SOPHY.  And  why  did  n't  you  say  so  at  first,  and  so  have  saved 
me  all  this  bother  ? 

DICK.  And  will  you  go  1 

SOPHY.  If  Mr.  Crusty  will  give  me  leave. 

DICK.  And  you  do  love  me,  Sophy  ? 

SOPHY.  I  love  to  go  a  sleigh-riding  with  you,  Dick. 

DICK.  And  to  kiss  me  at  the  back-door  in  the  dark,  but  not  in  the 
parlor ;  that  won't  do  for  me. 

SOPHY.  It  will  do  for  you.  You  shall  never  have  it  in  your  power 
to  remind  me  of  what,  if  I  am  willing  to  do,  I  am  not  willing  ever  to 


A    CHARADE.  441 

be  told  of  doing.     Hush  now !  Mr.  Crusty  's  coming.     If  you  want 
me  to  go  a-sleigh-riding,  ask  his  leave. 

Enter  Mr.  CRUSTY. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  How  now,  Dick  ?     What  are  you  doing  here  ? 

DICK,  [iows.]  I  came  to  ask  your  permission  for  Sophy  to  go.  out 
on  a  sleigh-ride  with  me. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  And  what  have  you  to  say  to  it,  my  young  gal  ? 

SOPHY.  Please  do  n't  call  me  gal,  Sir.     Call  me  Sophy. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  That 's  no  answer  to  my  question.  Tell  me,  gal,  is 
this  young  man  your  lover  ? 

SOPHY.  He  says  he  is. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  And  what  do  you  say  ? 

SOPHY.  I  say  nothing. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Nothing !  What  right  has  he  to  ask  me  this  per 
mission  in  your  presence  without  your  leave  ? 

SOPHY.  He  does  many  things  without  asking  my  leave. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  He  does !  A  pretty  gal  you !  Have  I  warned  you 
to  keep  yourself  away  from  these  young  chaps,  and  here  comes  one 
and  asks  to  take  you  out  a-sleigh-riding  ?  I  am  ready  to  give  my  con 
sent  when  I  know  he  has  sought  yours  as  his  wife,  and  has  obtained 
it.  What  say  you,  Sir  1 

DICK.  I  am  ready  to  marry  Sophy  on  sight. 

Mr.  CRUSTY,  [to  SOPHY.]  What  does  Sophy  say  ?  a  sleigh-ride  and 
a  husband,  or  no  husband  and  no  sleigh-ride  1 

SOPHY.  If  you  want  to  get  rid  of  me,  Mr.  Crusty,  I  am  only  too 
happy  that  Dick  is  ready  to  take  me  off  your  hands. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  You  baggage !  You  know  I  marry  you  to  Dick, 
that  I  may  be  better  attended  to  when  you  shall  have  no  one  to  look 
out  for  who  does  not  reside  under  my  roof  with  you.  Go !  and  be 
happy.  I  will  see  that  all  things  are  ready  for  the  tieing  of  the  knot, 
by  the  time  you  shall  return.  [Exeunt  DICK  and  SOPHY. 

Mr.  CRUSTY,  [soZws.]  I  think  I  shall  be  happier  to  know  Dick  and 
Sophy  are  married,  and,  too,  I  believe  it  is  the  best  way  to  secure  my 
own  happiness.  I  shall  enjoy,  in  a  quiet  way,  the  honeymoon  below 


442  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

stairs.     They  can't  keep  all  their  gladness  of  heart  to  themselves,  and 
I  shall  fare  better  beyond  all  question. 

[Some  one  knocks  at  the  parlor  door. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  That  gal  has  let  in  that  anxious  spinster,  Mrs.  Pe 
nelope  Toler,  upon  me  —  the  huzzy  !  [The  knocking  is  repeated. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Come  in  ! 

Enter  Mrs.  LOVELY. 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  All  alone,  Mr.  Crusty  ? 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Certainly ;  always  alone ! 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  Oh !  it  is  so  hard  to  be  all  alone ! 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Pray,  what  do  you  know  about  solitude  1  You  are 
a  young  lady  still ;  a  widow  of  a  year's  growth ;  young,  quite  young ; 
and  what  do  you  know  of  being  all  alone  1 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  And  have  n't  I  had  a  world-wide  experience  ? 
Have  I  not  loved,  and  can  I  ever  cease  to  feel  the  want  of  my  Henry's 
presence,  and  his  voice  to  soothe  and  encourage  me?  Oh!  how  can 
I  cease  to  be  wretched,  when,  with  a  woman's  heart,  I  am  alone  ? 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Why  in  the  world  do  n't  you  marry  ?  There  is 
Ned  Dashall,  who  has  been  following  you  like  a  shadow ;  why  not 
make  him  happy,  as  you  know  how  1 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  Do  you  think  it  would  be  wise  in  me  to  marry  a 
man  whose  only  recommendation  is  his  youth  ?  Dear  Mr.  Crusty, 
you  do  n't  know  the  heart  of  a  loving  woman !  It  is  truth,  talent, 
and  virtue  I  love  ;  and  I  do  wish  I  had  such  a  heart  to  love  me ! 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  You  are  very  candid.  Why  do  n't  you  advertise 
for  a  husband  1 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  O,  Mr.  Crusty,  enough  of  this  badinage.  I  did  n't 
come  here  to  talk  about  marrying.  But  here  's  a  paper  Lawyer 
Sparrowhawk  has  sent  me  by  his  man,  and  says  I  must  return  it 
to  him  signed,  and  there  's  no  time  for  delay.  It  is  something  about 
the  cotton  lands  in  Alabama.  And  here  's  a  letter  from  the  Auditor 
of  the  State,  saying,  unless  taxes  are  paid  up  at  once  on  these  lands, 
they  will  be  sold.  Now,  I  never  heard  of  these  lands  before.  I  would 
not  sign  this  paper  till  you  had  seen  it,  for  I  can  trust  no  one  but  you. 
I  am  a  poor  widow,  with  no  one  to  advise  me. 


A    CHARADE.  443 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  How  can  you  say  so  ?  Not  a  day  has  passed  since 
the  death  of  your  heels-over-head  husband,  that  I  have  not  been  at 
work  to  save  you  from  the  net- work  of  embarrassments  in  which  he 
has  involved  all  your  property  and  his  own. 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  Do  n't,  do  n't !  I  can 't  hear  one  word  said  to  the 
disparagement  of  dear  Henry.  He  was  always  a  loving  husband 
to  me. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Let  me  see  that  paper.  [Reads  the  paper ;  lays  it 
down  with  emotion.]  That  lawyer  is  a  nice  nut  for  the  devil  to  crack 
one  of  these  days.  My  poor  child !  there 's  no  saving  you  from  ras 
cality,  but  by  marrying  you  myself. 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  You,  you,  my  dear  Mr.  Crusty  ?  Oh !  you  do  n't 
mean  what  you  say ! 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  I  do,  from  the  very  bottom  of  my  soul ! 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  And  are  you  indeed,  indeed  serious  ? 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Never  more  so  in  my  life.  You  need  a  husband  to 
take  care  of  your  affairs ;  I  need  a  wife  to  take  care  of  me.  The 
exchange  is  most  unequal  on  your  part,  to  marry  an  old  man  like  me. 
Ah !  I  made  a  mistake  twenty  years  ago,  and  I  have  been  finding  it 
out  for  ten  years  past ;  but  I  feared  it  was  too  late  to  confess  it  to 
any  lady,  and  I  do  now  tell  it  to  you,  my  lady. 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  Oh !  it  is  great  joy  to  me  to  hear  it ;  to  know  it  is 
now  told  to  me  by  yourself.  To  me ! 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  You  are  an  angel,  and  I  shall  clip  your  wings  before 
you  fly  away.  Now,  then,  will  you  marry  me  ? 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  I  will,  six  months  hence ;  for,  you  know,  I  must 
have  time  to  make  all  suitable  preparations  for  such  an  event.  I 
must  first  lay  aside  my  weeds. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Not  an  hour!  In  matters  of  this  sort,  especially, 
there  's  danger  in  delay.  Do  n't  you  reflect  that  your  "  dear  five  hun 
dred  fashionable  friends"  will  all  do  their  best  to  put  me  out  of  your 
head.  They  will  tell  you,  and  tell  you  truly,  I  am  too  old  for  you. 
They  will  count  every  gray  hair  in  my  head,  and  tell  you  the  exact 
number. 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  Tf  all  the  world  were  to  unite,  it  would  not  move 
me.  No,  never ! 


444  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Ah !  well.  It  may  be  true  of  a  woman ;  but,  I  fear, 
if  the  outcry  of  all  the  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grundys  of  our  town  should  not 
move  you,  they  would  move  me. 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  O  Mr.  Crusty,  do  n't  say  so. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Yes,  but  I  do  say  so ;  and  upon  my  soul,  I  believe 
they  will  be  in  the  right,  and  I,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  will  be 
all  in  the  wrong.  They  will  tell  me  what  a  fool  I  am,  on  the  shady 
side  of  forty-five,  to  marry  a  young  widow,  who  will  be  made  misera 
ble  for  life  by  her  folly  and  mine ;  and  upon  my  soul,  I  think  they 
will  have  the  right  of  it. 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  Oh !  no !  I  do  n't  care  a  pin  what  people  may  say ; 
they  always  will  talk,  and  let  them.  I  will  marry  you. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Now  or  never,  then,  my  sweet  lady ;  at  once.  If  I 
am  to  do  a  foolish  act,  let  it  be  done  now.  If  it  be  an  act  of  folly, 
we  shall  find  it  out,  all  in  good  time,  and  save  our  friends  the  trouble 
of  doing  so  in  advance. 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  Yes,  it  will  be  best ;  for  though  they  never  could 
change  my  mind,  they  might  make  us  feel,  for  a  time,  unhappy. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  We  won't  give  'em  a  chance. 

DICK  and  SOPHY  are  heard  in  the  entry.     They  enter. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  your  ride,  and  now,  Mister 
Dick,  I  want  the  use  of  the  sleigh  for  myself.  Sophy,  bring  me  my 
hat  and  cloak. 

SOPHY.  Are  you  mad,  Mr.  Crusty,  to  be  going  out ;  and,  pray, 
what  for? 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Mrs.  Lovely  and  myself  are  going  down,  with  you 
and  Dick,  to  Doctor  Butler's,  to  see  you  safely  married. 

SOPHY.  Bless  me,  Sir !  I  am  not  ready  to  be  married,  nor  Dick 
either. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  "Well,  if  you  are  not,  Mrs.  Lovely  and  I  are;  so 
bring  me  my  hat  and  cloak,  and  you  and  Dick  may  follow  our  exam 
ple,  if  you  choose. 

SOPHY.  Is  it  so,  Mrs.  Lovely  ? 

Mrs.  LOVELY.  Yes,  it  is  all  true. 

SOPHY,  [to  DIOK,  aside^  I  fear  master  is  mad  as  a  March  hare. 


A    CHARADE.  445 

DICK,  [<m'cfe.]  Mad !  to  marry  so  sweet  a  lady ! 

SOPHY,  [aside.]  If  she  comes  here,  my  nose  will  be  put  all  awry. 

DICK,  [aside.]  Marry  me,  my  dear  gal ! 

SOPHY,  [cm'cfe.]  I  won't  be  called  gal. 

DICK,  [<m'<fe.]  Let  me  call  you  wife,  then. 

Mr.  CRUSTY,  [who,  while  this  has  been  going  on,  has  had  his  hat 
and  cloak  put  on  by  Mrs.  LOVELY,  who  has  put  her  own  scarf  around 
his  neck  with  utmost  care  and  regard.]  What  is  all  that  whispering 
about  ? 

DICK.  Sophy  consents  to  follow  the  example  of  her  kind  master, 
and  we  will  all  be  happy  together. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Happy !  I  had  thought  that  word  could  never  be 
mine.  We  will  be  happy  together.  I  will  write  my  own  Epithala- 
mium,  and  we  will  sing  our  madrigals  with  merry  hearts  together. 
Let  us  now  go  to  the  parson.  [.Exeunt  all. 


SCENE     III. 

JSnter  DICK  and  SOPHY. 

SOPHY.  What  makes  you  so  glum  ? 

DICK.  I  do  n't  like  the  way  we  were  married. 

SOPHY.  Do  you  dare  tell  me  you  are  so  soon  sorry  you  have 
made  me  your  wife  ? 

DICK.  I  am  not  sorry  for  that,  Sophy ;  but  I  do  n't  like  what  the 
minister  said. 

SOPHY.  What  did  he  say  ? 

DICK.  Why,  when  he  had  got  through  almost,  he  pronounced  us 
"  man  and  wife."  I  wonder  if  I  was  n't  a  man  before ! 

SOPHY.  No,  indeed.  You  were  no  body ;  and,  let  me  tell  you, 
you  are  not  the  first  no  body  who  has  been  made  some  body  by  mar 
rying  a  wife. 

DICK,  [muses  a  little,  and  then  speaks.]  I  've  a  great  notion  to  go 
back  and  have  it  done  over  again. 

SOPHY.  For  why  ? 


446  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

DICK.  I  '11  tell  you  for  why.  The  parson  made  us  all  stand  up 
together,  with  Mr.  Crusty  and  Mrs.  Lovely,  so  as  to  save  time. 

SOPHY.  Well,  what  then  1 

-  DICK.  It  seems  to  me  too  much  like  saying  grace  over  a  barrel  of 
pork. 

SOPHY.  If  Doctor  Butler  had  married  us  separately,  wrhat  is  the 
difference. 

DICK.  Ah !  then  I  would  have  stopped  the  parson  until  you  said, 
out  loud,  "  I  will,"  and  not  made  a  bow  and  said  in  your  heart,  "  I 
won't." 

SOPHY.  How  do  you  know  I  said,  "  I  won't  ?" 

DICK.  Do  n't  I  read  you  like  a  book  ?  When  he  said,  "  Wilt  thou 
obey  him  and  serve  him  T'  and  all  that,  you  brought  your  lips  to  a 
pinch,  and  said  to  yourself,  "  I  won't."  Did  n't  you  now  ? 

SOPHY.  Yes,  I  did ;  and  I  mean  what  I  said  then,  and  say  now. 
I  won't  obey  you  when  I  think  my  way  is  the  best ;  and  now  I  may 
as  well  tell  you  once  for  all  —  I  make  a  fair  bargain  with  you  —  I 
will  take  charge  of  the  inside  of  the  house,  and  you  shall  take  the  out 
side.  If  you  are  industrious,  honest,  and  cheerful,  outside,  you  shall 
find  the  inside  of  the  house  as  warm  and  as  snug  as  a  dove's  nest ; 
but  if  you  do  n't,  you  will  find  yourself  lying  on  a  bed  of  thorns. 

Enter  Mr.  CRUSTY  and  lady. 

Mrs.  CRUSTY.  Why !  quarrelling  with  your  new  husband,  Sophy ! 

SOPHY.  Oh !  no,  Madam ;  I  was  only  telling  Dick  what  I  expected 
of  him,  and  what  he  might  expect  of  me. 

Mr.  CRUSTY,  [to  DICK.]  She  has  promised  you,  as  I  heard  just 
now,  a  bed  of  thorns.  Do  n't  you  wish  yourself  unmarried,  Dick  ? 

DICK.  I  have  no  fears  for  Sophy.  Love  shall  never  be  wanting 
on  my  part ;  and  it  is  love,  and  not  duty,  on  which  I  rely  to  control 
any  waywardness  of  my  young  wife. 

Mr.  CRUSTY.  Bravo !  Dick,  and  now  let  us  sing  our  MADRIGAL, 
and  then  good-night ! 


A    CHARADE.  447 


They  sing  in  quartette : 

COME  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love, 
And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove 
That  valleys,  groves,  and  hills  and  fields, 
The  woods  or  steepy  mountains  yields. 

And  we  will  sit  upon  the  rocks, 
Seeing  the  shepherds  feed  their  flocks. 
By  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals. 

And  I  will  make  thee  beds  of  roses. 
And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies ; 
A  cap  of  flowers,  and  a  kirtle 
Embroidered  o'er  with  leaves  of  myrtle. 

A  gown  made  of  finest  wool, 
Which  from  our  pretty  lambs  we  puh1 ; 
Fair-lined  slippers  for  the  cold, 
With  buckles  of  the  purest  gold. 

A  belt  of  straw  and  ivy  buds, 
With  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs ; 
And  if  these  pleasures  may  thee  move, 
Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love. 

My  shepherd  swains  shall  dance  and  sing, 
For  thy  delight,  each  May  morning ; 
If  these  delights  thy  mind  may  move, 
Then  live  with  me  and  be  my  love.* 

*  BY  CHRISTOPHER  MARLOWE.    1593. 


f  ate 

A     FRAGMENT     FROM     AN     UNPUBLISHED     STORY. 


EUFIT8          W.          G    BIS    WOLD. 


AND  I  look  up  to  Heaven  in  supplication ; 

"With  passionate  prayers  along  the  pathway  starred 
I  send  my  soul  to  CHRIST  for  an  oblation, 

But  find  the  entrance  to  his  presence  barred. 
To  Love  Supreme,  upon  their  pearly  hinges 

The  golden  gates  of  Paradise  unfold, 
As  after  night  and  storm  their  blazing  fringes 

The  clouds  lift  up,  and  glory  is  unrolled, 
So  beautiful  and  grand,  upon  the  mountains, 

That  we  see  not  the  valleys,  nearer  lying, 
Nor  even  hear  the  musical  play  of  fountains, 

Nor  the  earthlife  that  gives  it  glad  replying. 
To  Love  Supreme !  but  ah !  my  heart  is  buried 

There  in  her  coffin ;  and  the  prayer  I  'm  breathing 
Is  for  her  smile,  on  flowers  I  there  have  carried, 

Her  gentle  smile,  on  flowers  I  there  was  wreathing  • 
With  more  of  fear  than  love,  as  to  a  teacher 

Comes  the  young  child  to  ask  his  mate  for  playing, 
And,  as  he  speaks,  lets  go  his  soul  to  reach  her 

Ere  he  has  heard  the  voice  of  his  own  praying. 

You  can  not  come,  you  can  not  even  hear  me, 
The  gates  are  closed  while  I  without  am  calling. 

I  look  around,  no  more  I  see  you  near  me, 
Upon  my  lifted  face  are  arrows  falling. 
29 


450  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Because  I  love  you  more  than  I  love  Heaven 

Heaven  has  no  mercy.     All  my  heart's  fond  caring 
Was  for  your  eyes'  sweet  light,  that  now  is  riven, 

And  I  grope  on  in  darkness  and  despairing. 
Hear  me,  oh  GOD  !  if  there  await  no  morrow, 

If,  for  our  severed  hearts,  there  is  no  meeting, 
If  still  must  fall  in  tempests  all  this  sorrow, 

(No  sorrow  whiles  I  held  you  from  its  beating!) 
Then  let  the  hills,  in  avalanches  turning, 

Engulf  me  in  their  centres ;  with  her  features, 
Dear,  though  so  cold,  on  mine,  into  that  burning 

I  would  go  down,  with  all  the  meaner  creatures, 
Calmly  into  extinction ;  but  desiring 

That  as  I  bore  what  was  her  form,  in  blindness, 
She  would  in  it  relive,  for  my  expiring, 

And  thrill  my  panting,  sinking  soul,  with  kindness. 

Ah  I  from  that  verge  of  Death's  dark  boundless  ocean, 

As  I  the  cliffs  from  life  and  hope  descended, 
Could  I  look  back  and  know  that  your  devotion 

Not  with  your  glory  or  my  gloom  is  ended  — 
Hear  the  old  tones,  see  in  the  eyes  old  feelings, 

While,  for  one  moment,  on  my  own  the  pressing 
Of  your  dear  lips :  0  HEAVEN  !  those  wild  revealings 

Should  turn  this  blast  to  an  immortal  blessing. 
Then,  0  ye  surges,  that  are  now  entombing 

The  ever-dying  in  your  caverns  dreary, 
Then  I  could  hear  all  unappalled  your  booming, 

Nor  of  your  crowding  horrors  ever  weary  — 
With  the  last  effort  of  each  sense  receiving 

The  truth  that  should  be  foil  against  your  powers, 
Brave  your  strange  boiling,  roaring,  and  upheaving, 

Leap  to  your  horrors  as  to  seas  of  flowers ! 


f  Ala  ftm  p.  mm. 


[THE  contribution  to  our  volume  which  was  promised  by  Mr.  WILLIS  has  been  interrupted  by 
the  state  of  his  health ;  but  the  letter  which  he  writes  to  Mr.  CLARK,  explanatory  of  his  delay,  at 
the  same  time  that  it  is  expressive  of  his  kind  wishes,  is  of  a  tone  and  quality  so  suited  to  the 
general  reader  that  we  vrill  venture  to  place  it  in  the  vacant  niche.  ] 

Mr    DEAR    CLARK  :  IDLEWILD,  October  8,  1854. 

I  REGRET  exceedingly  to  say  that  I  must  be  the  delinquent  among 
your  troop  of  friends.  The  time  is  up,  and  I  have  no  "article"  to 
send  you.  My  long  and  tedious  illness  would  be  an  excuse  if  I  could 
explain  to  your  public  why  I  can  go  on  writing  as  freely  as  ever  for 
myself,  and  yet  be  too  much  of  an  invalid  to  write  for  a  friend.  But 
so  it  is.  The  mind  of  an  ailing  editor  will  go  on  with  its  weakly 
iteration  when,  for  the  production  of  any  thing  in  an  unaccustomed 
form,  it  will  not  come  to  the  scratch.  I  assure  you  I  have  tried  —  for 
two  patient  days  I  have  subjected  my  "promise  of  an  article"  to 
conscientious  incubation.  In  vain  —  the  ugly  customer  will  not  chip 
shell.  I  rejoice  that  the  "Turkey  extra"  which  your  Prospectus 
offers  to  subscribers  does  not  depend  upon  my  hatching. 

But  who  wrote  that  same  Prospectus  1  And  what  does  he  mean 
by  your  labors  being  "  ill-requited  "  ?  Come,  come,  my  dear  fellow ! 
The  forty  leading  authors  of  the  country  rushing  up  with  pick-axe  and 
shovel  to  stop  the  first  break  in  your  mill-dam,  and  yet  no  complaint 
as  to  the  popularity  of  your  grists !  What  fortune  that  was  ever 
made  in  trade  would  buy  the  equivalent  of  this  honor  ?  How  are 
you  an  object  of  sympathy,  I  should  like  to  know?  Money  (beyond 
victuals  and  clothes)  is  no  necessity  to  you  !  Other  people  want  it 
to  put  them  on  the  first  round  of  the  ladder  you  are  thus  proved  to 
be  at  the  top  of.  The  Fates  have  regulated  these  things  ever  since 


452  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

fame  was  a  commodity.  One  man  is  not  to  have  every  thing.  If 
you  want  to  know  what  you  weigh,  see  what  Destiny  has  put  into  the 
opposite  scale. 

No,  my  dear  CLARK  !  You  are  far  off  yet  from  the  only  point 
where  the  world  can  be  fairly  called  upon  for  sympathy  with  a  literary 
life.  There  is  such  a  point :  its  old  age  is  apt  to  be  bitter.  You  are 
in  the  prime  of  manhood ;  in  the  full  exercise  of  vigor  and  resource ; 
likely,  for  many  a  year,  to  hold  the  willing  attention  of  your  tributary 
thousands.  But  there  comes  a  time  when  the  pen  falters  —  the  brain 
faints  —  the  hand  that  was  reluctantly  paid,  even  for  its  fulness,  comes 
empty  or  poorly  laden  —  a  time  when  it  would  be  wiser  for  the  pen 
to  stop,  but  it  dare  not  —  when  sickness  and  weariness  enfeeble  the 
mind  upon  which  necessity  still  calls  for  brilliancy  and  strength. 
Then  comes  what  might  well  ask  for  sympathy.  The  old  age  of 
literary  men  seems  to  be  a  Lethean  unavoidable  gulf  of  oblivion 
which  they  must  needs  cross*  to  their  immortality.  The  world  which 
is  to  honor  them  when  dead  forgets  them  when  old.  Willing  gold 
for  your  monument,  but  reluctant  pennies  to  keep  you  from  starving 
on  your  way  to  it ! 

It  has  been  often  enough  said  that  nations  will  not  be  just  to  their 
glory-furnishers  till  they  look  kindly  on  the  improvidence  of  genius, 
giving  to  literary  men  who  have  run  their  career  and  won  their 
laurels  either  means  to  resist  poverty  or  an  honorable  asylum  out  of 
its  reach.  The  latter  would  be  the  better  thing  ;  but  there  is  likely 
to  be  no  such  Vallambrosa.  John  Bull  would  have  thought  of  it  for 
Hood  and  Campbell,  if  for  any  body ;  and  Uncle  Sam  thinks  it  quite 
enough  to  "put  the  train  through"  for  immortality,  without  building 
a  waiting-room  for  passengers. 

Well,  success  to  you !  —  only  do  n't  be  so  prosperous  as  to  stagger 
our  faith  in  your  other  deservings  —  and  among  those  who  will  "  take 
stock"  in  you,  (as  long  as  you  continue  "ill-requited,")  put  me  down 
for  a  share  or  two,  and  believe  me 

Yours  truly, 

N.    P.   WILLIS. 


\\m\ti. 


BY       C.      0.      EASTMAN. 


''•'So,1  muttered  the  dark  and  musing  prince,  unconscious  of  the  throng,  'so  perishes  the  Eace 
of  Iron.  Low  lies  the  last  Baron  that  could  control  and  command  the  people.  The  Age  of  Force 
expires  with  knighthood  and  deeds  of  arms.  And  over  this  dead  great  man  I  see  the  new  cycle 
dawns.  Happy,  henceforth,  he  who  can  plot,  and  scheme,  and  fawn,  and  smile.' " 

"LAST    OF    THE    BAKONi." 

AXD  so  the  Race  of  Iron  passed  — 

So  Burnet's  bloody  field 
Saw,  cold  and  still,  its  lion  heart 

Lie  crushed  with  WARWICK'S  shield ; 
And  when  the  victor's  trumpet  rang 

Above  his  fallen  head, 
The  age  of  knightly  deeds  had  passed  — 

The  Baron-power  was  dead. 

Lord  of  a  hundred  baronies, 

Chief  of  a  mighty  race, 
His  lightest  word  the  people's  lav:, 

The  throne  his  knotted  mace ; 
Girt  by  his  more  than  royal  host, 

He  heard  his  war-trump  ring, 
And  towered  among  his  barons  bold, 

Too  proud  to  be  a  king. 

But  Time  was  working  wondrous  change, 

And  from  his  native  realm 
Were  passing  fast  the  Barons'  rule, 

The  haubert  and  the  helm. 


454  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

The  land  was  dealt  to  nobles  new, 
And  men  of  foreign  birth, 

And  London  loons  were  swarming  round 
The  broad  old  Norman  hearth. 

His  Age  had  perished,  and  the  Race 

That  gave  the  Age  renown 
Fell  with  it,  and  the  Castle  bowed 

In  silence  to  the  Town. 
Low  lay  its  great  and  mighty  Chief, 

Its  last  and  noblest  man, 
And  dawning  o'er  his  broken  brand 

The  Age  of  Trade  began : 

The  Age  when  Barter  sneered  at  Birth, 

And  parchment  pedigrees 
Outweighed  the  names  the  Normans  bore 

Across  the  stormy  seas ; 
When  shone  no  more  the  honest  brow 

Beneath  the  burgonot, 
And  men  began  to  fawn,  and  smile, 

And  cheat,  and  lie,  and  plot : 

When  knaves  trod  on  the  knightly  heel, 

And  Avarice,  like  a  rust, 
Eat  out  the  brave  old  chivalry, 

And  swords  grew  thick  with  dust ; 
When  churls  and  serfs  grew  fat  with  gain, 

And  villains  bought  the  land, 
And  scorned  the  iron  men  of  yore, 

The  battle-axe  and  brand. 

The  pen  usurped  the  sword ;  the  loom, 

The  mace ;  the  plough,  the  spear ; 
And  Agriculture  cut  the  grain 

Where  rang  the  battle  cheer ; 
And  men  began  to  feel  the  rule 

Of  Trade,  more  potent  grown 
Than  baron  grim,  or  iron  earl, 

Or  monarch  on  his  throne. 


BURNET.  455 

'T  was  best,  perhaps :  yet  from  the  Age 

"When  trick  and  traffic  came ; 
When  knights  turned  knaves,  and  ladies  fair 

Grew  false  to  woman's  fame ; 
The  Age  in  mincing  merchant-kings 

And  London  tailors  great ; 
"When  craft  and  cunning,  fawn  and  fraud, 

Began  to  rule  the  state: 

"We  turn,  great  Baron !  to  the  men 

That  crowned  thy  regal  times, 
Admire  their  rude,  gigantic  strength, 

And  half  forget  their  crimes. 
The  castle  nursed  a  mighty  race  — 

A  race  of  Nature's  mould ; 
And  worth  meant  something  more  than  wealth, 

And  grandeur,  more  than  gold. 

Those  monarch  earls  and  lion  lords, 

And  barons  stout  and  brave, 
Despised  the  crawling  sycophant, 

The  sleek  and  cringing  knave ; 
Their  grim  baronial  banners  told 

Of  battles  they  had  fought; 
Of  honors  passed  from  sire  to  son, 

And  not  of  titles  bought.    ; 

But  trade  and  traffic,  stock  and  steam, 

The  platter  and  the  plough, 
The  mallet  and  the  milliner 

Aro  lord  and  lady  now. 
The  Castle  crowns  the  mousing  mart, 

The  Palace  sails  the  deep, 
Ambition  mounts  to  bantam  hens. 

And  chivalry  to  sheep. 

The  Earl  discusses  curly  blues, 

The  Baron  runs  to  seed, 
And  Fame  combines  a  purgative; 

And  Skill  invents  a  mead ; 


456  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Nobility  is  stock  and  starch, 
And  greatness  fat  sirloin ; 

And  worth  and  quality  are  found 
In  calico  and  coin. 


Sims. 


BY    ALFRED    B.    STREET. 


WHETHER  pluming  the  mountain,  edging  the  lake,  eye-lashing  the> 
stream,  roofing  the  waterfall,  sprinkling  the  meadow,  burying  the 
homestead,  or  darkening  leagues  of  hill,  plain,  and  valley,  trees  have 
always  "  haunted  me  like  a  passion."  Let  me  summon  a  few  of 
them,  prime  favorites,  and  familiar  to  the  American  forest. 

The  aspen — what  soft,  silver-gray  tints  on  its  leaves,  how  smooth 
its  mottled  bark,  its  whole  shape  how  delicate  and  sensitive !  You 
may  be  sitting  on  the  homestead  lawn  some  summer  noon,  the  trees 
all  motionless,  and  the  hot  air  trembling  over  the  surface  of  the 
unstirred  grass.  Suddenly  you  will  hear  a  fluttering  like  the  unloos 
ing  of  a  rapid  brook,  and  looking  whence  comes  the  sound,  you  will 
see  the  aspen  shaking  as  if  falling  to  pieces,  or  the  leaves  were  little 
wings  each  striving  to  fly  off.  All  this  time  the  broad  leaf  of  the 
maple  close  by,  does  not  even  lift  its  pointed  edges.  This  soft  mur 
mur  really  sends  a  coolness  through  the  sultry  atmosphere;  but 
while  your  ear  is  drinking  the  music  and  your  eye  filled  with  the 
tumultuous  dancing,  instantly  both  cease  as  if  the  tree  were  stricken 
with  a  palsy,  and  the  quiet  leaves  flash  back  the  sunshine  like  so  many 
fairy  mirrors. 

Next  the  elm.  How  noble  the  lift  and  droop  of  its  branches ! 
With  such  graceful  downward  curves  on  either  side,  it  has  the  shape 
of  the  Greek  vase.  Such  lavish  foliage  also,  running  down  the  trunk 
to  the  very  roots,  as  if  a  rich  vine  were  wreathed  around  it !  And 
what  frame-works  those  branches  shape,  breaking  the  landscape 
beyond  into  half-oval  scenes  which  look  through  the  chiaroscuro  as 


458  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

if  beheld  through  slightly  shaded  glass.  And  how  finely  the  elm  leans 
over  the  brook — its  native  place — turning  the  water  into  ebony,  and 
forming  a  shelter  for  the  cattle  from  the  heat.  It  is  scattered,  too, 
over  the  meadow,  making  shady  nooks  for  the  mowers  at  their  noon 
tide  meal,  shadowing  also  the  farmer's  gate  and  mantling  his  home 
stead  in  an  affluence  of  green. 

Then  the  maple.  What  a  splendid  cupola  of  leaves  it  builds  up 
into  the  sky — an  almost  complete  canopy  from  the  summer  shower. 
It  reddens  brilliantly  when  the  blue-bird  tells  us  spring  has  come, 
and,  a  few  days  later,  its  dropped  fringes  gleam  in  the  fresh  grass  like 
flakes  of  fire.  And  in  autumn,  too,  its  crimson  is  so  rich,  one  might 
term  it  the  blush  of  the  wood. 

And  the  beech.  How  cheerfully  its  snow-spotted  trunk  looks 
in  the  deep  woods  —  how  fresh  the  green  of  its  regularly-scalloped 
leaves!  At  spring-tide  the  tips  of  its  sprays  feather  out  in  the 
glossiest  and  most  delicate  cream-satin,  amid  which  the  young  leaf 
glows  like  a  speck  of  emerald.  And  in  the  fall  what  rich  clusters  of 
fruit  burthen  the  boughs !  The  pattering  of  the  brown  three-cor 
nered  beech-nut  upon  the  dead  leaves  is  constant  in  the  hazy,  purple 
days  of  our  Indian  summer,  and  makes  a  sweet  music,  almost  con 
tinuous  as  the  dripping  of  a  rill,  in  the  mournful  forest. 

The  birch  is  a  great  favorite  of  mine.  It  reminds  me  of  the 
whistles  of  my  boyhood.  Its  fragrant  bark  —  what  delight  it  was  to 
wrench  it  from  the  silvery  wood  for  the  shrill  music  I  delighted  in, 
particularly  by  the  hearth-stone  of  my  home ! 

"  Conscience !"  my  aunt  Katy  used  to  ejaculate,  holding  her  ears ; 
"  is  that  whistling  coming  again  1  John,  (John  is  my  name  —  John 
Smith,)  do,  do  stop !" 

And  when  came  a  shriller  blast, 

"  John,  you  little  torment !  if  you  do  n't  stop,  I  '11  box  your 
ears !" 

What  splendid  tassels  the  birch  hangs  out  at  the  bidding  of 
April !  —  tassels  that  Indian  sachems  were  proud  to  wear  at  the  most 
honored  feasts  of  their  nation. 

And  into  such  rich  gold  is  it  transmuted  by  October,  a  light  is 
almost  shed  of  its  own  within  the  sylvan  recesses.  The  speckled 


TREES.  459 

bark  of  the  black  birch  is  glossy  and  bright,  but  give  me  the  beauty 
of  the  white  birch's  coat.  How  like  a  shaft  of  ivory  it  gleams  in  the 
daylight  woods — how  the  flame  of  moonlight  kindles  it  into  columned 
pearl ! 

Did  you  ever,  while  wandering  in  the  forest  about  the  first  of 
June,  have  your  eyes  dazzled  at  a  distance  with  what  you  supposed 
to  be  a  tree  laden  with  snow'?  It  was  the  dogwood.  Glittering 
in  its  white  blossoms,  each  one  spread  over  a  broad  leaf  of  the 
brightest  verdure,  pointed  gauze  upon  emerald,  there  stands  the 
pretty  tree  like  a  bride.  The  shadbush  and  cherry  have  dropped 
their  white  honors  a  month  before,  but  the  dogwood  keeps 
company  with  the  basswood  and  locust  in  brightening  the  last  days 
of  spring  with  its  floral  beauty.  Up  in  the  soft  blue  it  lifts  its 
wreathed  crown,  for  it  gathers  its  richest  glow  of  blossom  at  its  head, 
and  makes  the  forest  bright  as  with  silver  chandeliers. 

While  admiring  the  dogwood,  an  odor  of  exquisite  sweetness  may 
salute  you ;  and  if  at  all  conversant  in  tree-knowledge  you  will  know 
the  censer  dispensing  this  fragrance.  But  you  will  have  to  travel 
some  distance,  and  you  will  do  it  as  the  hound  tracks  the  deer,  by 
scent,  for  the  perfume  fills  the  forest  long  before  the  tree  catches 
the  eye.  At  length  you  see  it  —  the  basswood  —  clustered  with 
yellow  blossoms,  golden  bells  pouring  out  such  strong,  delicious  fra 
grance,  you  realize  the  idea  of  Shelley  : 

"  AND  the  hyacinth,  purple,  and  white,  and  blue, 
Which  flung  from  its  bells  a  sweet  peal  anew 
Of  music  so  delicate,  soft,  and  intense, 
It  was  felt  like  an  odor  within  the  sense." 

And  the  deep  hum,  too,  about  it  —  an  atmosphere  of  sound  —  the 
festival  of  the  bees  surrounding  the  chalices  so  rich  with  honey. 

I  have  mentioned  the  flowers  of  the  locust  and  chestnut  in  con 
junction  with  the  basswood.  Delicate  pearl  does  the  former  hang 
out  amid  the  vivid  green  of  its  beautiful  leaves,  and  sweet  is  that 
pearl  as  the  lips  of  the  maiden  you  love. 

And  the  chestnut  —  scattered  thickly  among  its  long,  dark-green 
leaves  are  strings  of  pale  gold  blossoms  —  haunts  also  of  the  revelling 


460  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

bee.  Does  the  school-boy  ever  forget  "the  days  that  he  went" 
truanting  after  the  auburn  fruit  embedded  in  velvet  within,  but 
without  protected  by  porcupines  of  husks  ?  With  what  delight  did 
the  young  good-for-nothings  pelt  down  those  yellow  husks  to  be 
crushed  open  by  indefatigable  heels !  Ah !  the  aurora  of  life  —  how 
bright,  how  merry  it  is ! 

For  ever  linked  in  the  minds  of  these  truants  with  the  chestnut  is 
the  walnut.  How  the  green,  smooth  globes  that  insphere  the  fruit 
make  the  eyes  of  the  young  vagabonds  dance,  and  how  eagerly  they 
mount  to  shake  down  those  globes,  each  fracturing  at  the  fall,  and 
letting  out  the  round  ivories  that  in  turn  imprison  the  dark  gold 
meats ! 

And  now  the  oak,  "  the  brave  old  oak,"  and  so  forth.  Suppose 
yourself  in  a  wood !  Do  you  see  that  little  brown  vegetable  cup 
with  a  braided  cover  —  there  by  the  dead  maple  leaf  and  tuft  of 
crimson-headed  moss1?  Yon  robin  just  planted  his  foot  upon  and 
covered  it.  And  then  do  you  see  that  towering  tree  whose  head 
seems  nearly  to  touch  the  white  cloud  above  it?  Look!  upon  its 
very  apex  there  is  a  bird,  seemingly  the  size  of  this  wild  pigeon  on 
the  beech-tree,  but  in  reality  an  eagle.  A  great  many  years  have 
intervened  between  the  two  objects,  it  is  true,  but  you  think  twice 
ere  realizing  that  yon  seamed,  stern,  sturdy  oak  once  nestled  in  this 
acorn.  So  of  all  trees,  you  say,  from  the  seed.  True  again,  but 
none  strikes  you  so  forcibly  in  this  contrast  as  the  oak.  And  what  a 
tree  it  is !  First  piercing  the  mould,  a  tiny  needle  that  the  ground- 
squirrel  would  destroy  with  a  nibble,  and  then  rearing  grandly 
toward  the  sun  a  wreath  of  green  to  endure  for  ages.  Does  the  wild 
wind  dash  upon  it  ?  Its  shakes  its  proud  head,  but  no  more  bends 
its  whole  shape  than  yon  crag.  Doth  the  arrowy  sleet  strike  it  ?  Its 
leaves  only  make  clicking  music ;  and  as  for  the  early  snow,  it  bears 
it  up  easily  as  a  deer  would  fragments  of  kalmia-blossoms  on  his 
antlers.  How  finely  its  dark  green  stands  out  from  the  lighter  hues 
of  the  beeches,  birches,  and  maples !  And  then  how  it  keeps  old 
Time  at  a  distance!  Why.  decades  are  nothing  to  it.  The  child 
gathers  the  violet  at  its  foot;  as  a  boy,  he  pockets  its  dropped 
acorns ;  a  man,  he  looks  at  its  height,  towering  up,  towering  up,  and 


TREES.  461 

makes  it  the  emblem  of  his  ambition.  Years  after,  with  white  hairs 
and  palsied  limbs,  he  totters  at  noontide  to  lie  within  its  shade  and 
slumber,  "perchance  to  dream"  of  that  last  sleep  which  can  not  be 
distant,  and  which  "  knows  no  waking."  But  has  the  oak  changed  ? 
Mocker  of  the  storm,  stern  darer  of  the  lightning,  there  he  stands,  the 
same,  and  seemingly  for  ever.  Challenger  of  Time,  defier  of  earth's 
changes,  there  he  stands  the  pride  of  the  forest,  satirizing,  in  his  mute 
language,  alike  the  variations  of  fortune  and  evanescence  of  man. 

And  he  does  all  things  in  a  grand,  slow  way,  unlike  other  trees. 
In  spring-time,  when  the  aspen  has  showed  for  a  month  its  young 
leaves  of  silver  gray,  when  the  beech  has  thrust  forth  its  beau 
tiful  feathers,  when  the  maple  has  made  a  red  rain  of  its  glowing  blos 
soms  upon  the  forest  floor,  the  oak  still  looks  as  he  did  when  Janu 
ary  was  frowning  upon  his  branches.  When  the  aspen  has  elabor 
ated  its  small  leaves  into  thick  foliage,  when  the  beech  has  spangled 
itself  over  with  emerald,  when  the  maple  has  hung  upon  its  slender 
stems  its  broad  pearl -lined  verdure,  no  tint  of  green  upon  the  oak. 
He  stands  yet  in  dark  disdain,  as  if  mourning  the  perished  winter. 
But  at  last,  when  the  woodland  is  smiling  in  its  fully-developed  glory, 
when  the  tardy  blossoms  of  the  locust  and  tulip-tree  are  drenching 
the  air  with  delicious  sweetness,  then  stirs  the  oak.  Little  brown 
things  are  scattered  over  his  great  boughs,  which  in  due  time  become 
long,  deep-veined  leaves;  and  lo!  the  regal  oak  has  donned  his 
'splendid  robe.  The  summer  passes,  and  the  autumn  comes.  What 
stands  at  the  corner  of  yon  wood,  swathed  in  a  mantle  of  the  true 
imperial1?  Crimsons,  and  yellows,  and  golden-browns  are  flashing  all 
around  him,  as  though  there  were  a  carnival  among  the  trees,  but  no 
hue  is  brighter  than  that  of  the  brave  old  oak  in  his  robe  of  royal 
purple.  And  he  is  in  no  more  haste  to  let  that  robe  of  his  go  than 
in  putting  it  on.  When  the  shrieking  blasts  have  torn  its  mantle 
from  every  other  tree,  the  oak  still  clings  to  his,  as  if  he  said  to  those 
shrieking  blasts,  "  I  defy  your  fury !"  When  the  snow-bird  comes 
twittering  among  the  woods  to  tell  them  the  snow  will  shortly  be 
showering  loose  pearl  all  through  their  gaunt  domains,  the  oak  yet 
holds  to  his  mantle,  blanched  and  tattered  though  it  be.  High  amid 
the  snow-drifts,  firm  amid  the  blasts,  the  pale  crackling  leaves  still 


462  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

cling,  with  nothing  in  the  wide,  bleak  forests  to  keep  them  company 
save  here  and  there  a  shivering  lingerer  upon  the  beech-tree.  Often 
it  is  only  when  their  successors  come  "to  push  them  from  their 
stools"  that  the  old  leaves  quit  the  gallant  oak  and  lie  down  to 
perish.  So  a  health  to  the  oak ! 

We  will  merely  touch,  in  passing,  upon  the  horse-chestnut,  with 
its  great  glistening  spring-buds  bursting  into  cones  of  pearly,  red- 
spotted  blossoms  that  almost  cover  its  noble  dome  of  foliage ;  upon 
the  hemlock,  with  its  masses  of  evergreen  needles,  and  the  cedar,  with 
its  misty  blue  berries ;  upon  those  tree-like  shrubs  —  the  hopple,  with 
its  gigantic  leaves  serving  as  sylvan  goblets  at  pic-nics ;  the  sumac, 
with  its  clusters  of  splendid  crimson ;  the  sassafras,  diffusing  from  its 
thick  leaf  a  most  delicious  breath;  the  laurel,  arching  above  the 
brooks  a  roof  radiant  with  immense  bouquets  of  rose-touched  snow, 
and  even  garlanding  the  apex  of  the  water-beech  with  its  superb  cha 
lices,  while  its  younger  sister,  the  ivy,  crouches  at  the  foot  of  the 
tamarack  and  spruce,  rich  in  red-streaked  urns  of  blossoms ;  and  the 
witch-hazel,  smiling  at  winter,  with  its  curled,  sharp-cut  flowers  of 
golden  velvet. 

We  come  now  to  the  pine,  of  all  my  greatest  favorite. 

Ho !  ho !  the  burly  pine !  Hurrah !  hurrah  for  the  pine !  The 
oak  may  be  king  of  the  lowlands,  but  the  pine  is  the  king  of  the 
hills  —  aye,  and  mountains  too. 

Ho !  ho !  the  burly  pine !  how  he  strikes  his  clubbed  foot  deep  • 
into  the  cleft  of  the  rock,  or  grasps  its  span  with  conscious  power ! 
There  he  lifts  his  haughty  front  like  the  warrior-monarch  that  he  is. 
No  flinching  about  the  pine,  let  the  time  be  ever  so  stormy.  His 
throne  is  the  crag,  and  his  crown  is  a  good  way  up  in  the  heavens, 
and  as  for  the  clouds  he  tears  them  asunder  sometimes,  and 
uses  them  for  robes.  Then  hurrah  again  for  the  pine!  say  I. 
Reader,  did  you  ever  hear  him  shout  1  Did  you  ever  hear 
thunder  ?  —  for  there  is  a  pine  mountain  on  the  upper  Dela 
ware  that  out-roars,  in  a  winter  storm,  all  the  thunder  you 
ever  heard!  Stern,  deep,  awfully  deep,  that  roar  makes  the 
heart  quiver.  It  is  an  airquake  of  tremendous  power.  And  his 
single  voice  is  by  no  means  silvery  when  he  is  "  in  a  breeze."  WThen 


TREES.  463 

the  stern  warrior-king  has  aroused  his  energies  to  meet  the  onslaught 
of  the  storm,  the  battle-cry  he  sends  down  the  wind  is  heard  above 
all  the  voices  of  the  greenwood.  His  robe  streams  out  like  a  banner, 
and  so  wild  does  he  look,  you  would  think  he  was  about  to  dash  him 
self  from  his  throne  of  rock  upon  the  valley  beneath.  But  no ;  his 
great  foot  grasps  more  closely  the  crag,  and  when,  after  a  while,  the 
tempest  leaves  him,  how  quietly  he  settles  to  his  repose !  He  adorns 
his  crown  with  a  rich  wreath  caught  from  the  sunset,  and  an  hour 
after,  he  wears  the  orbed  moon  as  a  splendid  jewel  upon  his  haughty 
brow.  The  scented  breeze  of  the  soft  evening  breathes  upon  him, 
and  the  grim  warrior-king  wakes  his  murmuring  lute,  and  oh !  such 
sounds  —  so  sweet,  so  soothing !  Years  that  have  passed  live  again 
in  the  music ;  tones  long  since  hushed  echo  once  more  in  the  heart ; 
faces  that  have  turned  to  dust  —  but  how  loved  in  the  old  time !  - — 
glimmer  among  the  dusky  boughs ;  eyes  that  years  ago  closed  on 
earth  to  open  in  heaven  smile  kindly  upon  us.  We  lie  down  in  the 
dark  shadow  upon  the  mossy  roots  and  are  happy  —  happy  in  a  sad, 
sweet,  tender  tranquillity  that  purifies  the  soul,  and  while  it  makes  us 
content  with  earth,  fills  us  with  love  for  heaven. 


cft.tt.Ji 


prgt 


WE  are  bent  with  age  and  cares, 
In  the  last  of  our  gray  hairs, 
And  we  lean  upon  our  staffs, 
Looking  for  the  epitaphs ; 
For  we  are  the  last,  the  last, 
In  the  ruins  of  the  Past ! 

When  our  youth  was  in  its  prime, 

Then  it  was  a  merry  time ; 

Suns  were  golden,  stars  were  bright, 

And  the  moon  was  a  delight ! 

And  we  wandered  in  its  beams, 

In  the  sweetest,  sweetest  dreams ! 

Now  our  dreams  are  fled, 

For  the  happy  Past  is  dead, 

And  wre  feel  it  lived  in  vain, 

And  will  never  come  again ! 

No  1  't  is  gone !  and  gone  each  trace 

Of  its  once  familiar  face : 

Even  the  dust  to  which  we  yearn 

Lost,  and  lost  its  very  urn ! 

Xothing  remains  except  its  tomb ; 

(The  earth,  and  heaven  so  draped  with  clouds  I) 
And  we  who  wander  in  its  gloom, 

And  soon  will  need  our  shrouds, 
So  pale  are  we,  and  so  aghast, 
At  the  absence  of  the  Past  I 
30 


466  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

We  had  friends  when  we  were  young, 

And  we  shared  their  smiles  and  tears : 
But  they  are  for  ever  flown ; 
"VVe  can  only  weep  alone 

In  the  shadow  of  the  years ! 
Eoses  come  again  with  spring ; 
("We  are  standing  on  the  tomb, 
But  beneath  our  feet  they  bloom!) 
And  the  summer  birds  do  sing ! 
But  the  dead,  who  loved  them  so, 
They  are  in  the  winter  snow  ; 
Far  from  birds,  and  far  from  flowers, 
And  this  weary  life  of  ours ! 
All  is  over !     Naught  remains, 
Save  the  memory  of  our  pains, 
And  the  years  that  bear  us  fast 
To  the  silence  of  the  Past ! 


THERE  's  a  door  in  your  chamber,  lady  mine ; 

I,  the  king,  have  the  key ; 
There  's  a  walk  in  our  garden's  deepest  shade, 

For  you,  sweet,  and  me ! 

"We  are  royal  and  distant  by  day, 
When  the  world  is  in  sight ; 

But  at  night  we  have  hearts,  and  we  love, 
And  are  happy  at  night ! 

Not  a  lamp  now  remains,  lady  mine ! 

All  is  still :  let  us  rise : 
I  can  track  you  by  the  beat  of  your  heart. 

And  the  light  of  your  eyes ! 

Through  the  dusk  of  the  lindens  we  '11  glide 

To  that  alley  of  ours, 
And  walk  in  the  light  of  the  moon, 

And  the  odor  of  flowers! 


0f  tlit  Imbfc 


BY       HON.      WM.       H.      SEW  A  ED. 


NATIONS  are  intelligent,  moral  persons,  existing  for  the  ends  of 
their  own  happiness  and  the  improvement  of  mankind.  They  grow, 
mature,  and  decline.  Their  physical  development,  being  most  obvi 
ous,  always  attracts  our  attention  first.  Certainly  we  can  not  too 
well  understand  the  material  condition  of  our  own  country.  "I 
think,"  said  Burke,  sadly,  addressing  the  British  House  qf  Commons, 
just  after  the  American  war ;  "  I  think  I  can  trace  all  the  calamities 
of  this  country  to  the  single  source  of  not,  having  had  steadily  before 
our  eyes  a  general,  comprehensive,  well-connected,  and  well-propor 
tioned  view  of  the  whole  of  our  dominions,  and  a  just  sense  of  their 
bearings  and  relations." 

Trace  on  a  map  the  early  boundaries  of  the  United  States,  as  they 
were  defined  by  the  treaty  of  Versailles,  in  1783.  See  with  what 
jealousy  Great  Britain  abridged  their  enjoyment  of  the  fisheries  on 
the  north-east  coast,  and  how  tenaciously  she  locked  up  against  them 
the  St.  Lawrence,  the  only  possible  channel  between  their  inland 
regions  and  the  Atlantic  ocean.  Observe  how  Spain,  while  retaining 
the  vast  and  varied  solitudes  which  spread  out  westward  from  the 
Mississippi  river  to  the  Pacific  ocean,  at  the  same  time  assigned  the 
thirty-first  parallel  of  latitude  as  the  southern  boundary  of  the  United 
States,  and  thus  shut  them  out  from  access  by  that  river  or  otherwise 
to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  See  now  how  the  massive  and  unpassable 
Alleghany  Mountains  traversed  the  new  Republic  from  north  to 
south,  dividing  it  into  two  regions :  the  inner  one  rich  in  agricultural 


468  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

resources,  but  without  markets ;  and  the  outer  one  adapted  to  defence 
and  markets,  but  wanting  the  materials  for  commerce.  Were  not  the 
Europeans  astute  in  thus  confining  the  United  States  within  limits 
which  would  probably  render  an  early  separation  of  them  inevitable, 
and  would  also  prevent  equally  the  whole  and  each  of  the  future  parts 
from  ever  becoming  a  formidable  or  even  a  really  independent  Atlan 
tic  power  ?  They  had  cause  for  their  jealousies.  They  were  monar 
chies,  and  they  largely  divided  the  western  hemisphere  between  them. 
The  United  States  aimed  to  become  a  maritime  nation,  and  their  suc 
cess  would  tend  to  make  that  hemisphere  not  only  republican,  but 
also  independent  of  Europe.  That  success  was  foreseen.  A  British 
statesman,  in  describing  the  American  Colonies  just  before  the  peace, 
had  said  to  his  countrymen :  "  Your  children  do  not  grow  faster  from 
infancy  to  manhood  than  they  spread  from  families  to  communities, 
and  from  villages  to  nations." 

The  United  States,  thus  confined  landward,  betook  themselves  at 
once  to  the  sea,  whose  broad  realm  lay  unappropriated ;  and,  having 
furnished  themselves  with  shipping  and  seamen  equal  to  the  adventur 
ous  pursuit  of  the  whale  fishery  under  the  poles,  they  presented 
themselves  in  European  ports  as  a  maritime  people.  Afterward, 
their  well-chosen  attitude  of  neutrality,  in  a  season  of  general  war, 
enabled  them  to  become  carriers  for  the  world.  But  they  never  for 
got,  for  a  moment,  the  importance  of  improving  their  position  on  the 
coast.  France  was  now  the  owner  of  the  province  of  Louisiana,  which 
stretched  all  along  the  western  bank  of  the  Mississippi.  She  wisely 
sold  a  possession,  which  she  was  unable  to  defend,  to  the  United 
States,  who  thus,  only  twenty  years  after  the  treaty  of  Versailles, 
secured  the  exclusive  navigation  of  the  great  river ;  and,  descending 
from  their  inland  frontier,  established  themselves  on  the  coast  of  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico.  Spain  soon  saw  that  her  colonies  on  that  coast,  east 
of  the  Mississippi,  now  virtually  surrounded  by  the  United  States, 
were  untenable.  She,  therefore,  for  an  equivalent,  ceded  the  Flori- 
das,  and  retired  behind  the  Sabinc ;  and  so  the  sea-coast  of  the  United 
States  was  now  seen  to  begin  at  that  river,  and  passing  along  uie 
gulf,  and  around  the  peninsula,  and  beyond  the  capes,  to  terminate  at 
the  St.  Croix,  in  the  Bay  of  Fundy. 


THE    PHYSICAL    DEVELOPMENT    OF    THE    UNITED    STATES.  469 

The  course  of  the  European  war  showed  that  Spain  was  exhausted. 
Nearly  all  her  American  colonies,  inspired  by  the  example  of  the 
United  States,  and  sustained  by  their  sympathy,  struck  for  independ 
ence,  established  republican  systems,  and  entered  into  treaties  of 
amity  and  commerce  with  the  republic  of  the  North. 

But  the  United  States  yet  needed  a  northern  passage  from  their 
western  valleys  to  the  Atlantic  ocean.  The  new  channel  to  be  opened 
must  necessarily  have  connections,  natural  or  artificial,  with  the  inland 
rivers  and  lakes.  An  internal  trade  ramifying  the  country  was  a 
necessary  basis  for  commerce,  and  it  would  constitute  the  firmest  pos 
sible  national  union.  Practically,  there  was  in  the  country  neither  a 
canal  to  serve  for  a  model,  nor  an  engineer  competent  to  project  one. 
The  railroad  invention  had  not  yet  been  perfected  in  Europe,  nor  even 
conceived  in  the  United  States.  The  Federal  Government  alone  had 
adequate  resources,  but,  after  long  consideration  and  some  unprofita 
ble  experiments,  it  not  only  disavowed  the  policy,  but  also  disclaimed 
the  power  of  making  internal  improvements.  Private  capital  was 
unavailable  for  great  national  enterprises.  The  States  were  not  con 
vinced  of  the  wisdom  of  undertaking  singly  works  within  their  own 
borders  which  would  be  wholly  or  in  part  useless,  unless  extended 
beyond  them  by  other  States,  and  which,  even  although  they  should 
be  useful  to  themselves,  would  be  equally  or  more  beneficial  to  States 
which  refused  or  neglected  to  join  in  their  construction.  Moreover, 
the  only  source  of  revenue  in  the  States  was  direct  taxation  —  always 
unreliable  in  a  popular  government  —  and  they  had  no  established 
credits,  at  home  or  abroad.  Nevertheless,  the  people  comprehended 
the  exigency,  and  their  will  opened  a  way  through  all  these  embar 
rassments.  The  State  of  New-York  began,  and  she  has  hitherto, 
although  sometimes  faltering,  prosecuted  this  great  enterprise  with 
unsurpassed  fidelity.  The  other  States,  according  to  their  respective 
abilities  raid  convictions  of  interest  and  duty,  have  cooperated.  By 
canals  we  have  extended  the  navigation  of  Chesapeake  Bay  to  the 
coal-fields  of  Maryland  at  Cumberland,  and  also  by  the  way  of  Colum 
bia  to  the  coal-fields  of  Pennsylvania.  By  canals,  also,  we  have 
united  Chesapeake  Bay  with  the  Delaware  river,  and  have,  with  alter 
nating  railroads,  connected  that  river  with  the  Ohio  river  and  with 


470  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Lake  Erie.     By  canals  we  have  opened  a  navigation  between  Phila 
delphia  and  New-York,  mingling  the  waters  of  the  Delaware  with 
those  of  the  Raritan.     By  canals  we  have  given  access  from  two 
several  ports  on  the  Hudson  to  two  different  coal-fields  in  Pennsylva 
nia.     By  canals  we  have  also  extended  the  navigation  of  the  Hudson, 
through  Lake  Champlain  and  its  outlet,  to  the  St.  Lawrence  near 
Montreal.     We  are  just  opening  a  channel  from  the  Hudson  to  Lake 
Ontario,  at  Cape  Vincent,  near  its  eastern  termination,  while  we  long 
since  opened  one  from  the  same  river  to  a  central  harbor  on  that  lake 
at  Oswego.     A  corresponding  improvement,  made  by  the  Canadian 
authorities  on  the  opposite  shore,  prolongs  our  navigation  from  Lake 
Ontario  to  Lake  Erie.     We  have  also  connected  the  Hudson  river 
with  the  eastern  branch  of  the  Susquehanna,  through  the  valley  of  the 
Chenango,  and  again  with  its  western  tributaries  through  the  Seneca 
Lake.     We  are  also  uniting  the  Hudson  with  the  Alleghany,  a  tribu 
tary  of  the  Mississippi,  through  the  valley  of  the  Genesee.     One  long 
trunk  of  canal  receives  the  trade  gathered  by  most  of  these  tributary 
channels,  while  it  directly  unites  the  Hudson  with  Lake  Erie  at  Buf 
falo.     The  shores  of  that  great  lake  are  the  basis  of  a  second  part  of 
the  same  system.     Canals  connect  the  Alleghany,  in  the  State  of 
Pennsylvania,  with  Lake  Erie  at  Erie ;  the  Ohio  river,  at  Portage 
and  at  Cincinnati,  with  Lake  Erie,  at  Cleveland  and  at  Toledo ;  and 
again  the  Ohio  river,  in  the  State  of  Indiana,  with  Lake  Erie,  through 
the  valley  of  the  Wabash.     Lake  Superior,  hitherto  secluded  from 
even  internal  commerce,  is  now  being  connected  with  the  other  great 
lakes  by  the  canal  of  the  Falls  of  St.  Mary ;  and,  to  complete  the 
whole,  the  Illinois  canal  unites  the  lakes  and  all  the  extensive  system 
I  have  described,  with  the  Mississippi.     Thus,  by  substituting  works 
purely  artificial,  we  have  not  only  dispensed  with  the  navigation  of 
the  St.  Lawrence,  but  have  also  opened  a  complete  circuit  of  inland 
navigation  and  traffic  between  New-Orleans,  on  the  Gulf,  and  New- 
York,  Philadelphia,  and  Baltimore,  on  the  Atlantic.     The  aggregate 
length  of  these  canals  is  five  thousand  miles,  and  that  of  the  inland 
coasts  thus  washed  by  natural  and  artificial  channels  exceeds  twenty 
thousand  miles. 

Railroads  constitute  an  auxiliary  system  of  improvements,  at  once 


THE    PHYSICAL    DEVELOPMENT    OF    THE    UNITED    STATES.  471 

more  complex  and  more  comprehensive.  By  railroads  we  have  con 
nected,  or  are  in  the  act  of  connecting,  together  all  the  principal  sea 
ports  on  the  Atlantic  coast  and  on  the  coasts  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico, 
namely :  Portland,  Boston,  New- York,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  Nor 
folk,  Charleston,  Mobile,  and  New-Orleans.  Again,  railroads  from 
each  or  most  of  these  ports  proceed  inland  through  important  towns, 
to  great  depots  on  the  St.  Lawrence,  the  lakes,  the  Ohio,  and  the  Mis 
sissippi,  namely :  Quebec,  Montreal,  Ogdensburgh,  Oswego,  Roches 
ter,  Buffalo,  Erie,  Cleveland,  Sandusky,  Toledo,  Monroe,  Detroit,  Chi 
cago,  Pittsburgh,  Cincinnati,  Louisville,  St.  Louis,  Cairo,  and  Mem 
phis.  Again,  there  are  tributaries  which  search  out  agricultural  and 
mineral  productions  and  fabrics,  accumulated  at  less  notable  points ; 
and  so  a  complete  system  is  perfected,  which  leaves  no  inhabited 
region  unexplored,  while  it  has  for  its  base  the  long  line  of  seaboard. 
The  aggregate  length  of  these  railroads  is  sixteen  thousand  miles,  and 
the  total  cost  is  six  hundred  millions  of  dollars. 

Immediately  after  the  purchase  of  Louisiana,  President  Jefferson 
having  conceived  the  idea  of  a  national  establishment  on  the  Pacific 
coast,  an  exploration  of  the  intervening  wastes  was  made.  An  Ameri 
can  navigator  about  the  same  time  visited  the  coast  itself,  and  thus 
laid  the  foundation  of  a  title  by  discovery.  A  commercial  settlement, 
afterward  planted  on  the  Columbia  river  by  the  late  John  Jacob 
Astor,  perished  in  the  war  of  1812.  Ten  years  ago,  the  great  thought 
of  Pacific  colonization  revived,  under  the  influences  of  the  commercial 
activity  resulting  from  the  successful  progress  of  the  system  of  Inter 
nal  Improvements.  Oregon  was  settled.  Two  years  afterward,  its 
boundaries  were  defined,  and  it  was  politically  organized ;  and  now  it 
constitutes  two  prosperous  Territories. 

The  social,  military,  and  ecclesiastical  institutions  of  Mexico 
proved  unfavorable  to  an  immediate  success  of  the  republican  sys 
tem.  Revolution  became  a  chronic  disease  there.  Texas  separated, 
and  practically  became  independent,  although  Mexico  refused  to 
recognize  her  separation.  After  some  years,  Texas  was  admitted  as 
a  State  into  our  Federal  Union.  A  war  which  ensued,  resulted  not 
only  in  the  relinquishment  of  Mexican  claims  upon  Texas,  but  in  the 
extension  of  her  coast-frontier  to  the  Rio  Grande,  and  also  in  the 


472  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

annexation   of    New-Mexico   and   Upper   California   to   the   United 
States. 

Thus,  in  sixty-five  years  after  the  peace  of  Versailles,  the  United 
States  advanced  from  the  Mississippi,  and  occupied  a  line  stretching 
through  eighteen  degrees  of  latitude  on  the  Pacific  coast,  overlooking 
the  Sandwich  Islands  and  Japan,  and  confronting  China,  (the  Cathay 
for  which  Columbus  was  in  search  when  he  encountered  the  bewilder 
ing  vision  of  San  Domingo.)  The  new  possession  was  divided  into 
two  Territories  and  the  State  of  California.  The  simultaneous  disco 
very  of  native  gold  in  the  sands  and  rocks  of  that  State  resulted  in 
the  instantaneous  establishment  of  an  active  commerce,  not  only  with 
our  Atlantic  cities,  but  also  with  the  ports  of  South-America  and 
with  the  maritime  countries  of  Europe,  with  the  Sandwich  Islands, 
and  even  with  China.  Thus  the  United  States  ceased  to  be  a  mere 
Atlantic  nation,  and  assumed  the  attitude  of  a  great  Continental 
Power,  enjoying  ocean  navigation  on  either  side,  and  bearing  equal 
and  similar  relations  to  the  eastern  and  to  the  western  coast  of  the 
old  world.  The  natural  connections  between  the  Atlantic  and  the 
Pacific  regions  are  yet  incomplete;  but  the  same  spirit  which  has 
brought  them  into  political  union  is  at  work  still,  and  no  matter  what 
the  Government  may  do  or  may  leave  undone,  the  necessary  routes 
of  commerce,  altogether  within  and  across  our  own  domain,  will  be 
established. 

The  number  of  States  has  increased,  since  this  aggrandizement 
began,  from  seventeen  to  thirty-one ;  the  population,  from  five  mil 
lions  to  twenty-four  millions ;  the  tonnage  employed  in  commerce, 
from  one  million  to  four  and  a  half  millions ;  and  the  national  reve 
nue,  from  ten  millions  to  sixty  millions  of  dollars.  Within  that 
period,  Spain  has  retired  altogether  from  the  continent,  and  two 
considerable  islands  in  the  Antilles  are  all  that  remain  of  the  New 
World  which,  hardly  four  centuries  ago,  the  generous  and  pious 
Genoese  navigator,  under  the  patronage  of  Isabella,  gave  to  the  king 
doms  of  Castile  and  Leon.  Great  Britain  tenders  us  now  the  freedom 
of  the  fisheries  and  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  on  conditions  of  flavor  to  the 
commerce  of  her  colonies,  and  even  deliberates  on  the  policy  of 
releasing  them  from  their  allegiance.  The  influences  of  the  United 


THE    PHYSICAL    DEVELOPMENT    OF    THE    UNITED    STATES.  473 

States  on  the  American  continent  have  resulted  already  in  the  estab 
lishment  of  the  republican  system  everywhere  except  in  Brazil, 
and  even  there  in  limiting  imperial  power.  In  Europe  they  have 
awakened  a  war  of  opinion  that,  after  spreading  desolation  into  the 
steppes  of  Russia  and  to  the  base  of  the  Carpathian  Mountains,  has 
only  been  suppressed  for  a  time  by  combinations  of  the  capital  and  of 
the  political  forces  of  that  continent.  In  Africa  those  influences,  aided 
by  the  benevolent  efforts  of  our  citizens,  have  produced  the  establish 
ment  of  a  republic  which,  beginning  with  the  abolition  of  the  traffic 
in  slaves,  is  going  steadily  on  toward  the  moral  regeneration  of  its 
savage  races.  In  the  Sandwich  Islands  those  influences  have  already 
effected,  not  only  such  a  regeneration  of  the  natives,  but  also  a  politi 
cal  organization  which  is  bringing  that  important  commercial  station 
directly  under  our  protection.  Those  influences  have  opened  the 
ports  of  Japan,  and  secured  an  intercourse  of  commerce  and  friend 
ship  with  its  extraordinary  people  —  numbering  forty  millions  —  thus 
overcoming  a  policy  of  isolation  which  they  had  practised  for  the 
period  of  an  hundred  and  fifty  years.  The  same  influences  have  not 
only  procured  for  us  access  to  the  five  principal  ports  of  China,  but 
have  also  generated  a  revolution  there  which  promises  to  bring  the 
three  hundred  millions  living  within  that  vast  empire  into  the  society 
of  the  western  nations. 

How  magnificent  is  the  scene  which  the  rising  curtain  discloses  to 
us  here !  and  how  sublime  the  pacific  part  assigned  to  us ! 

"  THE  Eastern  nations  sink,  their  glory  ends, 
And  Empire  rises  where  the  sun  descends." 

But,  restraining  the  imagination  from  its  desire  to  follow  the  influences 
of  the  United  States  in  their  future  progress  through  the  Manillas 
and  along  the  Indian  coast,  and  beyond  the  Persian  Gulf  to  the  far-off, 
Mozambique,  let  us  dwell  for  a  moment  on  the  visible  results  of  the 
national  aggrandizement  at  home.  Wealth  has  everywhere  increased, 
and  has  been  equalized  with  much  success  in  all  the  States,  new  as 
well  as  old.  Industry  has  been  persevering  in  opening  newly-disco 
vered  resources  and  bringing  forth  their  treasures,  as  well  as  in  the 
establishment  of  the  productive  arts.  The  Capitol,  which  at  first 


474  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

seemed  too  pretentious,  is  extending  itself  northward  and  southward 
upon  its  noble  terrace,  to  receive  the  representatives  of  new  in-coming 
States.  The  departments  of  executive  administration  continually 
expand  under  their  lofty  arches  and  behind  their  lengthening  colon 
nades.  The  Federal  City,  so  recently  ridiculed  for  its  ambitious  soli 
tudes,  is  extending  its  broad  avenues  in  all  directions,  and,  under  the 
hands  of  native  artists,  is  taking  on  the  graces,  as  well  as  the  fullness, 
of  a  capital.  Where  else  will  you  find  authority  so  august  as  in  a 
council  composed  of  the  representatives  of  thirty  States,  attended  by 
ambassadors  from  every  free  city,  every  republic,  and  every  court  in 
the  civilized  world  *?  In  near  proximity  and  in  intimate  connection 
with  that  capital,  a  metropolis  has  arisen  which  gathers,  by  the  agency 
of  canals,  of  railroads,  and  of  coast-wise  navigation,  the  products  of 
industry  in  every  form  throughout  the  North-American  States,  as 
well  those  under  foreign  jurisdiction  as  those  which  constitute  the 
Union,  and  distributes  them  in  exchange  over  the  globe  —  a  city 
whose  wealth  and  credit  supply  or  procure  the  capital  employed  in 
all  the  great  financial  movements  within  the  Republic,  and  whose 
press,  in  all  its  departments  of  science,  literature,  religion,  philan 
thropy,  and  politics  is  a  national  one.  Thus  expansion  and  aggran 
dizement,  whose  natural  tendency  is  to  produce  debility  and  dissolu 
tion,  have  operated  here  to  create,  what  before  was  wanting,  a  social, 
political,  and  commercial  centre. 

In  considering  the  causes  of  this  material  growth,  allowance  must 
be  made  liberally  for  great  advantages  of  space,  climate,  and 
resources,  as  well  as  for  the  weakness  of  outward  resistance,  for  the 
vices  of  foreign  governments,  and  for  the  disturbed  and  painful  con 
dition  of  society  under  them  —  causes  which  have  created  and  sus 
tained  a  tide  of  emigration  toward  the  United  States  unparalleled, 
at  least  in  modern  times.  But  when  all  this  allowance  shall  have 
been  made,  we  shall  still  find  that  the  phenomenon  is  chiefly  due  to 
the  operation  here  of  some  great  ideas,  either  unknown  before  or  not 
before  rendered  so  effective.  These  ideas  are,  first,  the  equality  of 
men  in  a  State,  that  is  to  say,  the  equality  of  men  constituting  a 
State ;  secondly,  the  equality  of  States  in  combination,  or,  in  other 
words,  the  equality  of  States  constituting  a  nation.  By  the  Constitu- 


THE    PHYSICAL    DEVELOPMENT    OF    THE    UNITED    STATES.  475 

tion  of  every  State  in  the  American  Union,  each  citizen  is  guaranteed 
his  natural  rights  of  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness ;  and 
he,  at  the  same  time,  is  guaranteed  a  share  of  the  sovereign  power 
equal  to  that  which  can  be  assumed  by  any  other  citizen.  This  is  the 
equality  of  men  in  the  State.  By  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  there  are  no  subjects.  Every  citizen  of  any  one  State  is  a 
free  and  equal  citizen  of  the  United  States.  Again,  by  the  Constitu 
tion  of  the  United  States,  there  are  no  provinces,  no  dependencies. 
The  Union  is  constituted  by  States,  and  all  of  them  stand  upon  the 
same  level  of  political  rights. 

The  reduction  of  the  two  abstractions  which  I  have  mentioned  into 
the  concrete,  in  the  Constitutions  of  the  United  States,  was,  like  most 
other  inventions,  mainly  due  to  accident.  There  were  thirteen  several 
States,  in  each  of  which,  owing  to  fortunate  •  circumstances  attending 
their  original  colonization,  each  citizen  was  not  only  free  but  also 
practically  equal,  in  his  exercise  of  political  power,  to  every  other 
citizen  of  that  State.  The  freedom  and  equality  of  the  citizen,  and 
the  inalienability  of  his  natural  rights,  were  solemnly  reaffirmed  in  the 
Declaration  of  Independence.  These  thirteen  States  were  severally 
free  and  independent  of  each  other.  They  therefore  were  equal 
States.  Each  was  a  sovereign.  They  needed  free  and  mutual  com 
merce  among  themselves,  and  some  regulations  securing  to  each  equal 
facilities  of  commerce  with  foreign  countries.  A  union  was  necessary 
to  the  attainment  of  these  ends.  But  the  citizens  of  each  State  were 
unwilling  to  surrender  either  their  natural  and  inalienable  rights  or 
the  guardianship  of  them  to  a  common  government  over  them  all, 
even  to  attain  the  union  which  they  needed  so  much.  So  a  Federal 
Central  Government  was  established,  which  was  sovereign  only  in 
commerce,  at  home  and  abroad,  and  in  the  communications  with  other 
nations;  that  is  to  say,  sovereign  only  in  regard  to  the  mutual 
internal  relations  of  the  States  themselves,  and  in  regard  to  foreign 

'  o  & 

affairs.  In  this  government  the  States  were  practically  equal  consti 
tuents,  although  that  equality  was  modified  by  some  limitations  found 
necessary  to  secure  the  assent  of  some  of  the  States.  The  States 
were  not  dissolved  nor  disorganized,  but  they  remained  really  States, 
just  as  before,  existing  independently  of  each  other  and  of  the  Union, 


476  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

and  exercising  sovereignty  in  all  the  municipal  departments  of 
society.  The  citizen  of  each  State  also  retained  all  his  natural  rights 
equally  in  the  Union  and  in  the  State  to  which  he  belonged,  and  the 
United  States  were  constituted  by  the  whole  mass  of  such  citizens 
throughout  all  the  several  States.  There  was  an  unoccupied  common 
domain  which  the  several  States  surrendered  to  the  Federal  authori 
ties,  to  the  end  that  it  might  be  settled,  colonized,  and  divided  into 
other  States,  to  be  organized  and  to  become  members  of  the  Union 
on  an  equal  footing  with  the  original  States.  When  additions  to  this 
domain  were  made  from  foreign  countries,  the  same  principles  seemed 
to  be  the  only  ones  upon  which  the  government  could  be  extended 
over  them,  and  so,  with  some  qualifications  unimportant  on  the  pre 
sent  occasion,  they  became  universal  in  their  application. 

No  other  nation,  pursuing  a  career  of  aggrandizement,  has  adopted 
the  great  ideas  thus  developed  in  the  United  States.  The  Macedonian 
conquered  kingdoms  for  the  mere  gratification  of  conquest,  and  they 
threw  off  the  sway  he  had  established  over  them  as  soon  as  the  sword 
dropped  from  his  hand.  The  Roman  conquered  because  the  alien 
was  a  barbarian  rival  and  enemy,  and  because  Rome  must  fill  the 
world  alone.  The  empire,  thus  extended,  fell  under  the  blows  of 
enemies,  subjugated  but  not  subdued,  as  soon  as  the  central  power 
had  lost  its  vigor.  The  Ottoman,  although  he  conquered  with  the 
sword,  conciliated  the  subjected  tribes  by  admitting  them  to  the  rites 
of  a  new  and  attractive  religion.  The  religion,  however,  was  of  this 
world,  and  sensual,  and  therefore  it  debased  its  votaries.  France 
attempted  to  conquer  Europe  in  retaliation  for  wrongs  committed 
against  herself,  but  the  bow  broke  in  her  hands  just  as  it  was  bent  to 
discharge  the  last  shaft.  Spain  has  planted  many  colonies  and  con 
quered  many  States,  but  the  Castilian  was  proud  and  haughty  —  he 
enslaved  the  native  and  oppressed  the  Creole.  The  Czar  wins  his  way 
amid  kindred  races  as  a  parent,  extending  protection  in  the  enjoyment 
of  a  common  religion.  But  the  paternal  relation  in  politics  is  a 
fiction  of  despotism  which  extinguishes  all  individual  energy  and  all 
social  ambition.  Great  Britain  has  been  distinguished  from  all  these 
vulgar  conquerors.  She  is  a  civilizer  and  a  missionary.  She  has 
planted  many  Colonies  in  the  West,  and  conquered  many  and  vast 


THE    PHYSICAL    DEVELOPMENT    OF    THE    UNITED    STATES.  477 

countries  in  the  East,  and  has  carried  English  laws  and  the  English 
language  around  the  world.  But  Great  Britain  at  home  is  an  aristo 
cracy.  Her  Colonies  can  neither  be  equal  to  her  nor  yet  independ 
ent.  Her  subjects  in  those  countries  may  be  free,  but  they  can  not 
be  Britons.  Consequently,  her  dependencies  are  always  discontented, 
and  insomuch  as  they  are  possessed  or  swayed  by  freemen,  they  are 
only  retained  in  their  connection  with  the  British  throne  by  the  pre 
sence  of  military  and  naval  force.  You  identify  an  American  State  or 
Colony  by  the  absence  of  the  Federal  power.  Everywhere,  on  the 
contrary,  you  identify  a  British  Colony,  whether  in  British  America, 
or  on  the  Pacific  coast,  or  on  its  islands,  or  in  Bombay,  or  in  India, 
or  at  St.  Helena,  or  at  Gibraltar,  or  on  the  Ionian  isles,  by  the  music 
of  the  imperial  drum-beat  and  the  frown  of  royal  battlements.  Great 
Britain  always  inspires  fear,  and  often  commands  respect,  but  she  has 
no  friends  in  the  wide  family  of  nations.  So  it  has  happened  that 
heretofore  nations  have  either  repelled,  or  exhausted,  or  disgusted  the 
Colonies  they  planted  and  the  countries  they  conquered. 

The  United  States,  on  the  contrary,  expand  by  force,  not  of  arms, 
but  of  attraction.  The  native  colonist  no  sooner  reaches  a  new  and 
distant  home,  whether  in  a  cleft  of  the  Eocky  Mountains  or  on  the 
sea-shore,  than  he  proceeds  to  found  a  State  in  which  his  natural  and 
inviolate  rights  shall  be  secure,  and  which  shall  become  an  equal 
member  of  the  Federal  Union,  enjoying  its  protection  and  sharing  its 
growing  greatness  and  renown.  Adjacent  States,  though  of  foreign 
habits,  religion,  and  descent,  especially  if  they  are  defenceless,  look 
with  favor  upon  the  approach  of  a  power  that  will  leave  them  in  the 
full  enjoyment  of  the  rights  of  nature,  and  at  the  same  time  that  it 
may  absorb  them,  will  spare  their  corporate  existence  and  indivi 
duality.  The  attraction  increases  as  commerce  widens  the  circle  of 
the  national  influence. 

If  these  positions  seem  to  require  modification  at  all,  the  very 
modifications  will,  nevertheless,  serve  to  illustrate  and  sustain  the 
general  principles  involved.  The  people  of  Mexico  resist  annexation 
because  they  fear  it  would  result  in  their  being  outnumbered  by 
Americans,  and  so  lead  to  the  restoration  of  African  slavery,  which 
they  have  abolished.  The  natives  of  the  Sandwich  Islands  take  alarm 


478  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

lest  by  annexation  they  may  themselves  be  reduced  to  slavery.  The 
people  of  the  Canadas  hesitate  because  they  disapprove  the  modifica 
tions  of  the  principles  of  equality  of  men  and  equality  of  States  in 
favor  of  slaveholding  States,  which  were  admitted  in  the  Federal 
Constitution. 

What  is  the  moral  to  be  drawn  from  the  physical  progress  of  the 
United  States  ?  It  is,  that  the  strongest  bonds  of  cohesion  in  society 
are  commerce  and  gratitude  for  protected  freedom. 


BY       GEOEGE 


0  SOFTLY  blows  the  southern  breeze 

Beneath  my  window-blind, 
And  plumes  its  winnowing  wings  for  one 

It  never  more  may  find. 
The  birdling  that  you  seek,  0  wind, 

In  your  JEolian  play, 
Some  wandering  seraph,  stooping,  saw, 

And  bore  to  Heaven  away. 

You  took  your  flight,  0  southern  breeze, 

When  Summer's  sheaves  were  bent, 
And  there  was  sorrowing  round  my  hearth, 

When  your  sweet  joyance  went : 
But  little  did  I  know  how  much 

Of  happiness  was  left, 
Until  of  that  young  love  of  ours 

My  sad  home  was  bereft. 

He  went  when  Autumn's  golden  light 

The  glowing  world  o'erspread ; 
And  left  behind  a  night  of  gloom 

And  rayless  dark  instead. 
Life  was  not  life  to  me,  unless 

His  presence  formed  a  part, 
For  he  was  the  irradiate  light 

And  day-spring  of  my  heart. 

At  sound  of  my  familiar  step, 

How  brightened  all  his  looks  ; 


480  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Down  went  the  play-things,  and  away 
Went  all  his  pictured  books : 

His  little  hands,  like  fluttering  wings, 
Were  tremulous  with  joy, 

And,  happy  in  each  other's  arms, 
The  father  clasped  his  boy. 

"We  lived  and  loved  —  a  blessed  life  — 

As  we  shall  live  no  more, 
For  angel-pinions  bore  him  off 

From  this  despairing  shore : 
The  cloud  that  shut  him  from  my  sight 

Cast  back  a  fearful  spell, 
And  made  my  quailing  spirit  shrink 

Where  its  dark  shadow  fell 

Blow  softly,  gently,  southern  breeze, 

Amind  the  buds  and  bloom, 
And  let  your  odor-laden  airs 

Search  all  the  quiet  room : 
You  can  not  find  his  sweeter  breath, 

Nor  his  red  lips  restore, 
And  though  you  gladden  other  hearts, 

You  wring  my  own  the  more. 

I  read  aright  the  moaning  sigh 

Beneath  my  window-blind, 
It  is  the  loving  sprite  who  seeks 

For  one  it  can  not  find  : 
For  one  whose  bright  and  starry  eyes 

Are  distant  now,  and  dim, 
While  Memory  fills  its  vacant  halls 

And  corridors  with  him. 

0  GOD  !  that  such  a  world  as  this, 

So  beautiful  and  brave, 
Should  be  of  all  our  fondest  loves 

And  dearest  hopes  the  grave : 
That  in  one  bitter  hour  a  blight 

Should  change  its  glorious  hue, 
And  wither  beauties,  which  no  showers 

Nor  spring-time  can  renew ! 


I  •A-ffitt^ 


BY       0.      F .      BKIGG8. 


A  LITTLE  EPISODE  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  A  GENTLEMAN  WHO  WAS  AMBITIOUS  OF  DISTINCTION  :  COM 
PILED  FROM  PAPEK8  WHICH  WEBB  DISCOVERED  IX  HIS  DESK,  AFTER  HE  HAD  LEFT  HOMB 
ON  A  TOUR  THROUGH  EUROPE. 

THE  subject  of  this  brief  memoir,  which  must  be  restricted  to 
twelve  pages  of  the  present  volume,  wras  the  son  of  wealthy  but  honest 
parents ;  at  least  they  had  never  been  convicted  of  larceny,  nor  of  any 
other  crime.  We  mention  the  fact  of  their  honesty  for  the  reason 
that  there  is  a  prevalent  opinion  among  a  certain  class,  that  in  this 
country,  where  wealth  is  so  rarely  inherited,  it  can  not  be  honestly 
obtained ;  honesty  and  fair  dealing  not  being  supposed  to  be  favor 
able  to  large  gains.  Though  the  father  was  engaged  in  the  most 
respectable  business  of  importing  German  dolls  and  other  useful  arti 
cles,  and  was  one  of  the  safest  men  down-town,  he  had  enlarged  views 
for  his  son,  and  determined  to  give  him  what  he  had  always  felt  the 
need  of  himself —  a  thorough  education ;  that  he  might  have  a  capi 
tal  to  start  with,  which  no  adverse  circumstances  could  deprive  him 
of.  Bonds  and  stocks  might  prove  worthless,  banks  might  fail,  and 
merchandise  depreciate  in  value ;  but  no  changes  in  the  market  could 
affect  Latin  and  Greek ;  and  with  a  good  stock  of  these  commodities, 
the  father  had  no  fears  for  his  son.  His  reasons  for  attaching  so 
much  importance  to  these  valuable  languages,  could  not  have  been  the 
wealth  and  importance  which  they  have  usually  conferred  upon  those 
who  possessed  them  in  the  greatest  quantities  ;  but,  whatever  the  rea 
sons  were,  they  were  all-sufficient  in  his  opinion.  After  leaving  college 
with  the  degree  of  A.B.,  and  as  much  knowledge  as  young  men  usually 
take  from  the  halls  of  learning  where  they  graduate,  the  subject  of 
31 


482  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

our  memoir  very  sensibly  took  a  wife,  to  aid  him  in  combatting  and 
overcoming  whatever  obstacles  he  might  encounter  in  his  way  through 
the  world.  Having  no  leaning  toward  any  particular  profession,  and 
feeling  quite  indifferent  whether  he  earned  his  living  by  preaching  the 
Gospel,  practising  medicine,  or  promoting  litigation,  provided  he  could 
distinguish  himself,  he  hesitated  a  long  time  before  he  could  prevail 
upon  himself  what  to  do,  and  perhaps  he  would  never  have  come 
to  any  decision  upon  this  important  point,  had  not  his  father  inti 
mated  to  him,  at  last,  that  he  should  shut  off  the  supplies,  unless  his 
son  showed  a  disposition  to  do  something  for  himself.  Marvin,  for 
that  happened  to  be  his  Christian  name,  suggested  to  his  father 
that  a  year  or  two  spent  in  Europe  might  enable  him  to  determine 
what  profession  would  be  best  adapted  to  the  bent  of  his  genius.  But 
the  father  did  not  see  the  force  of  the  suggestion,  whereupon  the  son 
was  suddenly  illuminated  by  a  brilliant  thought,  which  put  an  end  to 
discussion  and  satisfied  all  parties.  He  would  start  a  magazine,  and 
distinguish  himself  as  Jeffrey,  Brougham,  Campbell,  Sydney  Smith, 
Kit  North,  and  other  illustrious  men  had  done  before  him,  in  the  same 
way,  and  make  lots  of  money  beside.  Any  of  the  learned  professions 
would  require  years  of  patient  drudgery  to  gain  respectability  even, 
but  here  was  a  plan,  now,  by  which  reputation  and  wealth  could  be 
attained  at  a  bound. 

"  Where  there  is  a  will  there  is  a  way,"  is  an  excellent  maxim 
when  there  is  money  to  back  it  up,  which  happened  to  be  the  case 
in  this  instance.  Paper-makers,  printers,  binders,  and  all  the  opera 
tives  whose  aid  is  necessary  to  further  a  literary  enterprise,  are  the 
most  amiable,  obedient,  and  manageable  of  slaves,  and  always  hail,' 
with  encouraging  cheerfulness,  every  new  attempt  to  establish  a  lite 
rary  undertaking,  when  they  are  sure  of  their  pay.  Authors,  too, 
forget  their  caprices,  suddenly  grow  industrious  and  obliging,  genius 
brightens  up,  and  a  thousand  friends  come  forward  with  manuscripts 
and  advice,  under  similar  circumstances,  and  with  a  similar  contin 
gency.  So  the  subject  of  this  brief  history  found,  and  chuckled  with 
inward  delight  over  the  opening  glories  of  his  career,  as  he  made  his 
preparations  for  issuing  his  first  number.  There  were  drawbacks  to 
the  business,  to  be  sure  —  a  back  side  to  the  canvas,  which,  it  was  con- 


A    LITERARY    MARTYRDOM.  483 

soling  to  him  to  remember,  none  would  see  but  himself.  He  would 
become  so  prominent  an  object  of  popular  esteem  and  curiosity,  that 
he  foresaw  many  annoyances  and  inconveniences,  from  being  so  con 
tinually  invited  to  dine  with  this  and  that  great  man,  to  be  compelled 
to  attend  the  dejeuners  of  renowned  prima  donnas,  to  join  literary 
coteries,  being  bothered  for  his  autograph,  and  to  accept  conciliatory 
and  grateful  offerings,  from  authors,  artists,  and  actors;  all  these 
things,  to  a  gentleman  of  his  quiet  and  unostentatious  habits,  would 
prove  annoying ;  but  he  heroically  straightened  his  back  for  the  bur 
then  which  was  to  descend  upon  his  shoulders,  and  resolved  to  take 
the  bitter  with  the  sweet  of  his  new  employment  without  grumbling. 
His  consolation  and  reward  would  be  the  consciousness  of  having  ele 
vated  the  tone  of  popular  sentiment,  of  enlarging  the  bounds  of 
human  enjoyment,  and  of  assisting  in  the  development  of  American 
genius,  and  rewarding  native  talent.  Very  likely  other  men  may 
have  entertained  some  such  feelings  in  embarking  in  similar  enter 
prises,  and  they  will  readily  comprehend  the  emotions  of  Mr.  Smilax, 
at  this  momentous  period  of  his  career. 

Our  twelve  pages  will  not  allow  us  the  pleasure  of  giving  the 
world  an  account  of  the  reception  of  the  first  number  of  the  magazine, 
nor  permit  us  to  chronicle  the  gradual  change  which  took  place  in  the 
feelings  of  its  proprietor  and  editor,  as  he  day  by  day  discovered  he 
had  so  wonderfully  over-estimated  the  delights  and  profits  of  his 
enterprise,  and  so  ridiculously  under-estimated  its  troubles  and  annoy 
ances.  How  could  he  have  so  deluded  himself!  Manuscripts  poured 
in  upon  him  by  the  cart-load,  and  he  was  required  to  read  every  thing 
he  received,  and  give  a  critical  opinion  upon  it  the  next  day.  If  he 
accepted  an  article,  he  did  not  thereby  make  a  grateful  friend ;  but  if 
he  refused  one,  he  created  an  implacable  enemy.  Illustrious  authors 
did  not  manifest  any  of  that  feverish  anxiety  for  his  company  to  din 
ner  that  he  had  anticipated,  unless  he  acted  the  part  of  Amphitryon 
himself;  and  as  for  his  autograph,  the  only  applications  he  received 
for  it  were  from  certain  gentlemen  who  were  anxious  to  have  it  on 
the  backs  of  notes,  which  they  wished  to  part  with. 

One  day,  as  he  sat  in  the  little  apartment,  which  was  most 
absurdly  called  his  "  sanctum,"  for  it  was  as  open  to  the  inroads  of 


484  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERF. 

impertinent  people  as  an  intelligence  office,  looking  over  a  heap  of 
manuscripts  with  aching  head  and  weary  eyes,  and  thinking  to  himself 
that  the  business  of  enlarging  the  boundaries  of  human  enjoyment 
was  not  half  so  agreeable  an  occupation  as  that  of  importing  German 
dolls  would  be,  when  he  was  diverted  from  his  desponding  thoughts 
by  the  sudden  apparition  of  a  lady,  accompanied  by  a  small  boy,  who 
carried  a  large  roll  under  his  arm. 

"  You  are  the  editor,  I  presume  ?"  said  the  lady ;  and,  having  been 
assured  of  the  correctness  of  her  supposition,  she  seated  herself  in  the 
only  chair  which  was  vacant  in  the  sanctum  —  all  the  other  seats 
being  filled  with  bundles  of  manuscripts,  which  were  waiting  to  be 
returned  to  their  authors,  or  consigned  to  the  balaam-box.  The  lady 
then  lifted  her  veil,  and  taking  the  roll  from  the  boy,  pleasantly 
informed  the  dismayed  editor,  for  whom  such  visitors  had  long  since 
lost  all  novelty,  that  she  wished  to  occupy  a  few  minutes  of  his  time 
in  reading  a  manuscript  novel,  which  she  desired  his  opinion  of. 

The  editor  declined  the  favor  she  intended  him,  as  courteously  as 
his  temper  would  permit  him  to  do ;  but  she  insisted  that  he  would 
be  charmed  with  the  work,  and  she  would  permit  him  to  publish  it 
in  his  magazine.  He  pointed  to  the  heaps  of  manuscripts  lying  all 
about  him,  on  the  shelves,  on  the  tables,  in  baskets,  on  the  floor,  and 
in  the  chairs,  beside  two  or  three  green  boxes,  which  were  filled  full 
of  accepted  articles,  waiting  their  turns  to  be  published,  and  told  her 
they  had  all  prior  claims,  which  must  first  be  attended  to. 

But  ladies  who  have  a  point  to  carry  are  deaf  to  all  arguments 
which  do  not  tend  to  further  their  purposes,  and  the  strange  authoress 
only  smiled  more  pleasantly  than  before,  and  tossing  her  ringlets 
from  her  pale  cheeks,  said,  in  her  persuasive  voice,  "Allow  me  to 
read  you  one  chapter  *?  I  am  sure  it  will  interest  you." 

"  Madam,"  replied  the  beleaguered  editor,  "  I  have  no  doubt  of 
it ;  but  what 's  the  use  1  I  could  not  use  the  story  if  it  pleased  me 
never  so  much.  And  then  I  should  only  feel  the  greater  regret  in 
being  compelled  to  reject  it." 

"Ah!  now,"  said  the  lady,  "there  is  the  most  delightful  character 
in  it,  and  a  ghost,  and  a  most  mysterious  personage.  It  would  make 
your  magazine  sell  wonderfully.  It  is  just  the  kind  of  story  which 


A    LITERARY    MARTYRDOM.  485 

every  body  says  your  magazine  needs.  Let  me  read  you  but  one 
chapter  1" 

A  pitcher  of  water  and  a  tumbler  were  standing  upon  the  table, 
and  the  editor,  taking  up  the  pitcher,  filled  the  tumbler  full. 

"  There,  Madam,"  said  he,  "  you  see  that  when  a  vessel  is  full  it 
will  hold  no  more ;  see,  another  drop  and  it  overflows.  I  am  full, 
my  room  is  full,  desks,  drawers,  baskets,  boxes,  magazine,  and  all 
are  full.  I  can  receive  no  more." 

"Just  one  more  will  make  no  great  difference,  I  am  sure,"  said 
the  authoress,  paying  no  other  heed  to  the  forcible  illustration  of  the 
editor,  than  to  smile  most  benignly  and  patiently  while  he  demon 
strated  the  simple  fact.  "  Come,  let  me  read  my  introductory  chap 
ter,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  want  to  read  the  rest  yourself." 

"Madam,  I  have  been  compelled  to  deny  thousands  of  suck 
requests,"  said  he,  biting  his  lips. 

"  But  a  lady !"  said  she.  "  You  might  refuse  to  hear  a  gentleman, 
but  you  would  not  refuse  a  lady  T* 

The  editor  paused  a  moment,  and  he  was  ruined.  He  was  natur 
ally  tender-hearted,  and  he  thought  of  his  wife  and  his  mother ;  what 
if  either  of  them  should  ever  be  compelled  to  solicit  a  favor  from  an 
editor  1  and  how  would  he  feel  to  hear  they  had  been  refused  ? 

"  Madam,"  said  he,  with  a  softened  tone,  "  it  is  quite  impossible 
for  me  to  hear  you  read  your  novel  now ;  but  leave  it  with  me,  and 
I  will  read  it  through  at  my  earliest  leisure." 

"  I  may  depend  upon  you  V  she  said  half-doubtingly,  as  she  depo 
sited  the  roll  on  his  table. 

"  I  pledge  you  my  word  as  a  gentleman,"  he  said. 

"  I  will  call  again  soon,"  said  the  lady,  who  courtsied  and  smiled, 
and  then  retired,  followed  by  her  page. 

But  she  had  scarcely  left  the  sanctum  when  the  wretched  man,  as 
he  took  up  the  roll  of  manuscript,  and  tossed  it  upon  a  shelf,  where 
lay  heaps  of  similar  bundles,  repented  of  what  he  had  done. 

"  What  a  fool  I  was !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  glanced  around  him, 
"  to  make  that  rash  promise !  There  is  O'Mulligan,  who  will  chal 
lenge  me  if  I  do  not  read  his  essay  on  the  Round  Towers ;  there  is 
the  Reverend  Doctor  Slospoken,  who  will  denounce  me  to  his  congre- 


486  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

gation,  if  I  neglect  his  essay  on  Human  Responsibilities ;  Professor 
Verdigriss  will  speak  sneeringly  of  me  to  his  class,  if  I  am  not  pre 
pared  with  an  opinion  of  his  article  about  the  Retrocession  of  Solar 
Paradoxes ;  and  Mrs.  Winkle's  Blighted  Buds  must  be  reviewed  for 
my  next  number.  How  am  I  to  do  all  these  things,  and  read  that 
woman's  tremendous  manuscript !  I  was  a  madman  to  make  such  a 
promise !  The  deuce  take  her !  But  I  will  not  be  so  caught  again." 
He  gave  strict  orders  that  no  woman,  under  any  circumstances 
whatever,  should  ever  again  be  permitted  to  enter  his  sanctum ;  and 
after  spending  a  few  more  hours  at  his  dreary  employment,  he  went 
home  to  his  wife,  solacing  himself  with  the  recollection  of  his  domes 
tic  happiness,  and  repeating  to  himself  a  quatrain  from  some  verses 
which  he  had  addressed  to  his  Maria  Jane  before  their  marriage : 

"MARIA,  on  thy  peaceful  breast 

The  weary  worker  seeks  repose, 
And  in  thy  fond  affections  blest 
He  finds  a  cure  for  all  his  woes." 

"A  cure  for  all  his  woes !"  he  repeated  to  himself,  as  he  put  his 
night-key  in  the  door,  and  bounding  up-stairs  into  the  boudoir  of  his 
Maria,  was  suddenly  arrested  by  discovering  her  in  tears. 

Maria  Jane  in  tears !  The  heart  of  Smilax  was  smitten  by  the 
sight,  and  his  anxiety  to  learn  the  cause  of  her  first  sorrow  may 
readily  be  imagined  by  husbands  who  have  had  a  similar  experience 
—  and  what  husband  has  not  ? 

But  he  then  learned  that  when  a  wife  is  most  afflicted,  there  is 
nothing  the  matter  with  her.  Mrs.  Smilax  continued  to  weep,  and 
at  every  appeal  of  her  husband,  to  enlighten  him  as  to  the  cause  of 
her  grief,  she  would  only  reply,  "  Nothing !" 

But  Smilax  knew  perfectly  well  that  "  nothing,"  in  this  case,  meant 
something  dire  and  calamitous  to  his  domestic  peace.  After  a  while, 
the  torrent  of  his  wife's  grief  subsided  into  a  sullen  and  reproachful 
melancholy,  more  hard  to  endure  than  the  most  terrifying  outbursts 
of  grief  and  passion. 

Maria  Jane  was  not  one  of  the  Queen  Catharine  style  of  wives ; 
she  calmly  subsided  into  the  injured  innocence  state,  and  personated 


A   LITERARY    MARTYRDOM.  487 

most  effectively  the  character  of  a  resigned  saint,  persevering  in 
her  sad  declaration  that  nothing  had  happened  —  nothing !  She  had 
no  complaints  to  make.  It  would  all  be  over  soon ;  and  what  was 
her  happiness,  if  he  were  only  happy  ! 

Smilax  went  to  his  office  the  next  day,  a  thoroughly  wretched 
man ;  but  his  duties  were  too  engrossing  to  permit  him  to  dwell  on 
his  domestic  troubles.  He  had  tried  in  vain  to  imagine  the  cause  of 
his  wife's  griefs,  but  he  could  not  call  to  mind  any  circumstance 
which  could,  in  any  manner,  have  awakened  her  jealousy,  or  given 
her  reason  to  shed  a  tear.  What  added  to  his  distress  was  his 
inability  to  consult  with  any  of  his  friends  in  regard  to  the  matter,  or 
ask  advice  as  to  the  proper  mode  of  procedure  in  such  cases.  The 
spirit  of  discontent  had  entered  his  paradise,  and  he  was  unhappy , 
and  that  was  all  he  knew  about  it. 

The  mail  had  brought  him  heaps  of  letters  and  manuscripts,  all 
of  them  requiring  immediate  attention;  the  printer  had  sent  him 
bundles  of  proofs,  which  must  be  read  and  returned  at  once ;  and 
O'Mulligan  had  threatened  him  with  a  scorching,  in  a  rival  magazine, 
for  not  deciding  on  his  manuscript  sooner;  and  two  clergymen,  a 
lady,  a  Polish  lecturer,  and  half-a-dozen  suspicious-looking  men  of  a 
very  miscellaneous  character,  were  waiting  in  his  ante-room,  some  to 
learn  his  decision  in  regard  to  communications  already  sent,  and 
some  to  offer  him  essays  and  poems.  It  was  a  melting  hot  day ;  all 
the  rest  of  the  world  had  gone  to  the  country  or  the  sea-side ;  but  he 
was  forced  to  remain  to  make  up  his  next  number.  The  perspiration 
rolled  from  his  clouded  brow,  as  he  seated  himself  at  his  overburdened 
desk,  and  thought  of  his  duties.  With  a  kind  of  grim  desperation,  he 
took  up  the  roll  of  manuscript  which  the  lady  had  left  him  the  day 
before,  and  smiled  scornfully,  as  he  read  the  title,  "A  Pledge  of 
Affection.  By  Pattie  Passionflower." 

"Another  vegetable  name  in  literature !"  he  said  to  himself;  "Pop- 
pyflower  would  be  better.  I  thought,  when  I  received  a  poem  from 
Carry  Cauliflower,  that  that  particular  form  of  literary  disease  had 
come  to  an  end ;  but  here  is  another."  He  ran  his  eye  rapidly  over 
a  few  leaves  of  the  manuscript  —  for  he  had  learned  the  art  of  judging 
of  the  character  of  a  literary  performance  without  reading  it  all 


488  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

through  —  and  remorselessly  writing  a  mystical  word  upon  it,  tied 
up  the  bundle  and  threw  it  into  the  balaam-box,  with  a  large  heap  of 
other  rejected  offerings  to  be  returned  to  their  owners. 

This  was,  at  first,  a  most  painful  thing  for  him  to  do ;  for  he  had  hirn- 
sclf  once  been  a  contributor  to  a  magazine,  and  he  well  knew  the  irrita 
ting  anxiety  which  a  young  author  feels  for  the  fate  of  his  manuscript ; 
and  he  used  to  write  soothing  letters  to  the  poor  adventurers  whose 
bantlings  he  was  compelled  to  reject ;  but  he  had  long  since  become 
hardened  to  his  duty,  and  rather  felt  himself  the  aggrieved  and  injured 
party,  when  a  manuscript  was  offered  to  him,  which,  after  being  at  tho 
cost  of  reading,  he  was  compelled  to  reject.  "  It  is  not  my  fault,*1 
would  Smilax  say  to  himself;  ' '  if  they  can't  write  better  ;  why  should 
I  be  unhappy  about  it  ?" 

Ah !  little  did  the  public  think  or  care,  that,  to  obtain  the  one 
tolerably  good  essay,  which  they  would  find  fault  with  for  not  being 
more  brilliant,  he  had  been  obliged  to  read  through  four  or  five  hun 
dred  much  worse  ones.  "  What  does  the  world  care  about  the  trou 
bles  or  sufferings  of  any  of  its  servants,  who  wear  their  lives  out  in 
trying  to  give  pleasure  or  instruction  to  others  1  Not  a  straw  !  Yet  we 
will  be  martyrs  for  the  chance  smile  of  approbation  which  the  world 
now  and  then  bestows  upon  us  —  slaves  of  its  whims,"  said  Smilax 
to  himself,  as  he  wended  his  way  home  that  night,  wearied  with 
his  day's  work,  and  half-dreading  to  meet  Maria  Jane.  The  truth 
was  that  she  had  neglected  to  give  him  the  customary  parting 
kiss,  which  she  had  never  forgotten  to  do  before.  "  Forgotten !" 
exclaimed  Smilax  bitterly  in  his  thoughts  ;  "  she  did  not  forget  it  — 
she  did  it  on  purpose ;  she  had  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and  she 
would  not  allow  me  to  kiss  her.  I  have  broken  my  wife's  heart ;  but 
how  I  did  it  I  have  not  the  ghost  of  an  idea.  I  hope  she  has  got  over 
it  by  this  time,  though." 

But  the  faint  hope  was  soon  withered  ;  for,  as  he  opened  the  door, 
he  heard  a  stifled  sobbing,  which  he  knew  at  once  proceeded  from 
Maria  -Tane ;  and  worse  and  more  ominous  than  all,  the  severe  visage 
of  his  mother-in-law  frowned  freezing! y  upon  him,  as  he  entered  the 
room  where  the  wife  of  his  young  affections  lay  sobbing  hysterically 
upon  the  sofa.  Maria  Jane  had  sent  for  her  mother,  and  Smilax 


A    LITERARY    MARTYRDOM.  489 

knew  that  she  would  not  say  that  "  nothing  was  the  matter,"  for  that 
is  not  the  way  in  which  mothers-in-law  vent  their  reproaches.  It  was 
a  comfort  to  the  distressed  husband  and  editor  to  feel  sure  that  he 
would  now  know  the  worst,  let  it  be  what  it  might.  And  he  was 
perfectly  correct  in  his  assumptions ;  for,  as  he  mildly  asked  what 
was  the  matter,  the  word  "  Monster !"  fell  upon  his  ear  with  a  clear 
ness  and  distinctness  of  utterance  that  made  him  hop. 

"  Do  n't,  mother !"  sobbed  out  Maria  Jane ;  "  I  can  die,  but  I  will 
never  reproach  him." 

What  Smilax  would  have  said,  or  might  have  said,  if  he  had  not 
been  rendered  speechless  by  the  strangeness  of  these  proceedings,  we 
must  leave  the  public  to  imagine. 

"  I  do  n't  wonder  at  your  silence,"  said  his  mother-in-law.  "  You 
have  killed  this  suffering  angel,  and  made  me  childless." 

Maria  Jane,  we  may  observe,  was  an  only  daughter,  from  which 
the  tender  manner  of  her  bringing  up  may  be  inferred. 

"If  I  have  killed  her,"  said  Smilax,  meekly,  "I  am  — 

"  I  can't  bear  hypocrisy,"  said  his  mother  in-law ;  "  I  should  think 
much  better  of  you  if  you  confessed  your  villainy  openly.  Read  that 
letter,  and  save  yourself  the  trouble  of  further  dissimulation." 

As  the  word  "letter"  was  named,  the  suffering  angel  on  the  sofa 
broke  out  in  a  fresh  agony  of  hysterical  sobs. 

Smilax  took  the  letter,  and  with  a  puzzled  expression  examined 
the  direction,  which  was  to  his  wife ;  the  hand  had  a  very  familiar 
look  to  him ;  but,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  examining  so  many  speci 
mens  of  handwriting  daily,  he  had  but  a  confused  idea  of  its  individual 
character.  He  opened  the  letter  with  a  trembling  hand,  and  had  read 
but  a  few  lines  when,  to  the  horror  of  his  mother-in-law,  he  broke  out 
in  a  fit  of  the  most  obstreperous  mirth.  Unable  to  restrain  his 
laughter,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  floor  and  fairly  roared,  holding 
on  to  his  sides  with  both  hands,  and  kicking  his  heels  as  though  he 
were  in  convulsions. 

Maria  Jane  started  up  wildly,  and  her  mother  tried  to  look  very 
indignant,  but  felt  that  she  must  look  very  foolish.  She  knew  she 
had  made  a  mistake ;  and  to  be  compelled  to  confess  it  to  her  son- 
in-law,  in  whose  eyes  she  had  ever  striven  to  appear  immaculate,  and 


400  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

not  liable  to  any  mistakes  whatever,  was  enough  to  make  her  feel  and 
look  very  foolish. 

It  was  a  good  while  before  Smilax  could  command  himself  long 
enough  to  speak,  but  the  moment  he  did,  his  wife  leaped  from  the 
sofa,  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and,  if  there  had  been  a  piano 
in  the  room,  she  would  have  gone  off  with  "Ah  !  non  giunge!"  in  a 
manner  that  any  prima  donna  might  have  envied. 

To  save  the  trouble  of  an  explanation,  we  will  give  our  readers  a 
copy  of  the  letter  which  caused  this  domestic  emeute,  and  leave  it  to 
their  own  imaginations  to  do  the  rest. 

[COPY.] 
"  DEAR  MADAM  : 

"  Though  a  stranger  to  you,  I  am  not  to  your  husband ;  and  I  do 
not  flatter  myself  that  he  would  confide  to  you  the  kind  of  transac 
tions  which  such  as  I  have  with  him ;  and  I  would  not  now  intrude 
upon  you,  were  it  not  for  the  peculiar  circumstances  in  which  I  am 
placed.  I  am  a  mother  ;  I  believe  that  you  are  not,  and  you  may  not 
understand  my  feelings.  But  my  offspring  must  be  provided  for.  I 
am  not  mercenary,  yet  I  can  not  afford  to  part  with  the  '  Pledge  of 
Affection'  which  I  left  with  him  yesterday,  without  pay.  This  I  wish 
you  to  say  to  him.  After  a  long  and  most  satisfactory  interview 
which  I  had  with  him,  when  I  returned  to  say  this  much,  and  *  nothing 
more,'  I  was  denied  all  access  to  him,  and  have  ventured  to  request 
you  to  act  as  my  mediator  with  him.  If  my  presence  is  disagreeable 
to  him,  he  has  my  address,  and  may  drop  me  a  line  informing  me  of 
his  decision.  The  '  Pledge'  may  be  sent  back  if  he  declines  to  pay. 

"  Most  truly  yours, 
"To  MRS.  SMILAX."  "PATTIE  PASSIONFLOWER. 

This  little  affair  proved  the  straw  which  broke  the  camel's  back. 
Smilax  concluded  the  next  morning  that  his  martyrdom  in  the  cause 
of  literature  had  been  endured  long  enough.  The  delusive  idea  of 
distinguishing  himself  by  acting  as  a  monthly  nurse  to  other  people's 
literary  bantlings,  and  of  elevating  popular  taste  by  any  such  means, 
was  entirely  dissipated.  He  sold  out  to  some  body  as  deluded  as  he 


A    LITERARY   MARTYRDOM.  491 

had  been ;  and  soon  after,  the  following  advertisement  in  the  morning 
papers  told  the  catastrophe  of  his  literary  career,  and  the  total  eclipse 
of  all  his  ambitious  aspirations  for  distinction : 

"PARTNERSHIP  NOTICE.  —  Mr.  M.  Smilax.  Jr.,  having  been  ad 
mitted  a  partner  of  our  house,  the  business  of  importing  German 
dolls  will  be  conducted  under  the  name  of  M.  Smilax,  Son  &  Co. 

"SMILAX  &  Co." 


"After  all,"  said  Smilax- to  me,  one  day,  as  I  met  him  coming  out 
of  his  broker's,  where  he  had  been  looking  over  the  stock  list,  with 
the  view  of  making  a  safe  investment  of  his  spare  capital,  "  what  a 
precious  delusion  this  love  of  distinction  is !  What  more  should  sen 
sible  men  like  ourselves  aspire  to,  than  to  be  distinguished  in  their 
own  families  as  good  husbands  and  fathers,  and  to  have  the  satisfac 
tion  of  knowing  they  owe  no  man  a  dollar,  which  they  can  not  pay  on 
demand  ?  That 's  the  only  distinction  worth  striving  for." 

I  am  afraid  there  was  a  shade  of  sarcasm  in  the  smile  which  passed 
over  my  features  in  reply  to  these  grovelling  sentiments  of  my  friend ; 
for  he  immediately  added  with  a  slight  blush : 

"  It  is  true  that  importing  German  dolls  is  not  the  noblest  occupa 
tion  in  which  a  reasoning  creature  can  engage ;  but  children  must  be 
amused  with  dolls,  as  well  as  men  with  magazines,  and  why  not 
choose  the  business  which  affords  the  best  returns  ?" 

I  could  only  smile  again,  for  arguments  of  this  nature  have  but  one 
side  to  them ;  and  Smilax,  feeling  his  triumph,  changed  the  subject  by 
inviting  me  to  a  family  dinner,  with  Maria  Jane  and  the  children. 


LEGEND        OF         DOSORIS. 


R     V     I    N    0. 


NOT  far  from  the  great  throbbing  city  of  New- York,  and  on  the 
borders  of  a  beautifully  indented  bay,  called  Hempstead  Harbor,  there 
stood  about  half-a-century  since,  a  little  sleepy  town,  named  Mosquito 
Cove,  which,  being  very  materially  protected  from  invasion  by  its 
name,  was  a  kind  of  terra  incognita  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  In  its 
immediate  neighborhood  were  the  villages  of  Wolver  Hollow,  Cedar 
Swamp,  Duck  Pond,  Buckram,  and  Matinicock  —  all  sturdy  towns 
of  great  repute  among  their  own  inhabitants,  and  of  strong  tenacity 
of  name;  for,  although  Mosquito  Cove  in  after-times  became  Glen 
Cove,  the  others  still  vaunted  their  ancient  titles  with  vain-glorious 
obstinacy.  Not  far  from  Mosquito  Cove  was  a  retired  road,  about  a 
mile  in  length,  in  some  parts  running  through  open  woodland,  and  in 
others  so  completely  embowered  in  trees,  that  twilight  reigned  there 
even  at  mid-day.  There  was  a  dreamy  stillness  about  the  place, 
which  was  apt  to  conjure  up  odd  fancies  in  the  mind  of  the  loiterer, 
and  he  might  have  fancied  himself  in  some  old  abbey,  as  he  looked 
among  the  columned  tree-trunks  and  the  green  arches  overhead, 
until  startled  from  his  reverie  by  the  shrill  cry  of  the  blue  jay,  or 
the  workmanlike  tap  of  the  wood-pecker,  as  he  scrambled  around  a 
tree-trunk.  Here  and  there  a  ray  of  sunlight,  straggling  through  the 
overhanging  branches,  or  the  matted  grape-vines  which  clambered 
over  them,  would  stream  across  the  road,  or  lie  in  golden  flecks  upon 
the  dead  leaves  which  strewed  the  ground. 


494  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

Such  at  that  time  was  Dosoris  lane ;  and,  even  at  the  present  day, 
it  retains  much  of  its  primitive  character.  The  tide  of  travel,  which 
has  found  its  way  to  these  regions,  filling  them  with  the  hum  of  life, 
seems,  in  a  great  measure,  to  have  spared  this  lane.  In  earlier  times, 
however,  quiet  and  dream-like  as  it  seemed  in  the  day-time,  no  spot 
was  more  astir  than  this  after  night-fall.  Elves  and  spirits,  and  gob 
lins  of  all  denominations,  made  it  their  haunt,  and  tales  of  unearthly 
doings,  which  had  taken  place  there  were  rife  through  the  country 
round.  At  one  time  the  ghost  of  a  hard-drinking  miller  was  seen 
galloping  up  and  down  the  lane,  astride  of  a  huge  demijohn,  which 
he  was  spurring  like  a  fiery  charger  —  no  doubt,  a  retaliation 
for  the  spur  which  it  had  so  often  applied  to  him  in  his  life-time  — 
always  disappearing  at  a  great  oak-tree,  at  the  foot  of  which 
he  had  drank  himself  to  death,  and  which,  in  commemoration 
of  that  event,  is  called  the  drinking-tree  to  this  day.  At  another 
time,  the  ghost  of  one  Billy  Cowles,  who  had  died  long  before  of 
asthma,  and  was  buried  in  a  small  graveyard  at  the  head  of  the 
lane,  was  seen  patrolling  the  place.  It  was  generally  rumored  that 
he  was  in  search  of  breath,  as  he  wheezed  as  he  hurried  along,  and 
was  always  seen  with  his  coat  open,  his  shirt-collar  thrown  back,  and 
an  old  cravat  in  his  hand.  These,  and  a  number  of  other  characters 
of  the  same  kidney,  made  this  vicinity  their  rendezvous,  and  many  a 
weird  prank  and  gambol  were  carried  on  there,  until  the  place  gained 
an  evil  name ;  wayfarers  began  to  take  a  wide  circuit  to  avoid  its 
fated  neighborhood ;  the  grass  began  to  grow  in  its  wagon-track,  and 
bold,  indeed,  was  he  who  would  venture  to  brave  its  perils  after 
night-fall. 

Just  about  this  time,  the  place  fell  under  the  domination  of  one 
Parson  Woolsey,  a  stern  old  clergyman  and  a  large  landholder,  who 
looked  narrowly  after  his  own  interests,  and  kept  the  whole  country 
round  in  wholesome  subjection.  Neither  ghost  nor  man  was  permit 
ted  to  cross  his  path ;  loud  prayer  exorcised  the  former,  and  a  strong 
arm,  a  long  purse,  and  a  rigid  determination  to  enforce  his  own 
rights,  kept  the  latter  in  his  place. 

The  resolute  old  clergyman  carried  matters  with  a  high  hand  until 
he  died.  He  was  buried  under  the  shade  of  his  own  forests,  where 


ZADOC    TOWN.  495 

his  grave -stone  still  stands,  half-eaten  away  by  time,  and  over-run  by 
weeds  and  briars,  with  a  figure  of  the  sturdy  parson  in  full  canonicals 
carved  on  the  top,  scowling  from  the  midst  of  a  bag  wig,  and  appa 
rently  keeping  a  grim  watch  over  the  precincts. 

After  his  death,  his  lands  passed  into  the  hands  of  a  more  degene 
rate  race,  and  once  more  the  powers  of  the  air  were  rampant. 

Not  a  great  while  after  this,  there  dwelt  in  this  neighborhood  a 
person  of  no  small  repute,  named  Zadoc  Town.  He  had  come  there 
a  few  years  previous,  from  parts  unknown.  He  was  a  thin,  keen 
man,  with  sharp  features,  and  a  pair  of  restless  black  eyes,  placed  so 
close  to  his  nose,  that  they  seemed  intended  to  look  straight  forward, 
and  in  no  other  direction.  Mosquito  Cove  had  been  a  quiet  place 
enough  before  his  arrival,  dozing  away  under  the  weight  of  its  own 
antiquity,  believing  in  nothing,  and  looking  upon  all  greatness  as 
departed  from  the  earth  when  Parson  Woolsey  was  buried,  and  some 
what  disposed  to  think,  as  all  shrewd  towns  are  apt  to  do,  that  what 
Mosquito  Cove  did  not  know  was  not  worth  knowing,  and  what  Mos 
quito  Cove  did  not  possess  was  not  worth  possessing,  unless  it  might 
be  the  money  of  other  people.  But  when  Zadoc  came,  he  stirred 
them  up,  he  removed  the  veil  from  their  eyes,  and  soon  had  the  town 
in  a  turmoil.  He  took  up  his  abode  on  a  narrow  by-road,  at  a  short 
distance  from  the  village,  in  a  precise-looking  house  with  green  shut 
ters,  in  which  two  holes  were  cut  like  eyes,  giving  the  house  as  keen 
and  wide-awake  a  look  as  its  owner. 

Here  he  dwelt  under  the  shadow  of  two  poplar-trees,  and  of  a 
sister  as  keen  and  straight-forward  in  aspect  as  himself,  and  for  whose 
energetic  spirit  and  sharp  tongue,  it  was  said,  he  had  a  very  wary 
deference.  Be  that  as  it  may,  any  restraint  that  he  suffered  at  home 
only  rendered  him  more  restless  abroad.  He  was  here  and  there,  up 
to  his  eyes  in  every  man's  matters,  except  his  own.  He  called  public 
meetings ;  he  demonstrated  to  them  the  size  of  the  world  outside  of 
the  village ;  he  denounced  Quakerdom,  then  the  prevailing  epidemic 
of  the  place ;  he  talked  of  establishing  schools,  newspapers,  period 
icals,  and  banks.  He  failed  in  all !  but  succeeded  in  forming  a  fire- 
insurance  company,  of  which  he  was  the  president,  and  had  all  the 
honor,  while  a  tight-fisted  old  former  was  made  treasurer,  and  kept 


496  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

the  funds  in  a  stone  pot,  buried  in  his  cellar,  whence  he  dug  them  up 
and  counted  them  every  night,  after  saying  his  prayers,  and  just  before 
going  to  bed. 

It  chanced  that  shortly  after  Zadoc  had  been  installed  in  his  new 
office,  that  he  had  been  passing  an  afternoon  with  an  old  friend  named 
Tommy  Croft,  who  lived  at  Buckram.  Tommy  was  a  sturdy,  wea 
ther-beaten  veteran,  resembling,  in  strength  and  toughness,  one  of  the 
oaks  of  his  own  woods.  In  his  youth  he  had  been  a  double-jointed, 
hard-fisted  fellow,  who  could  cudgel  it  with  any  man  of  his  inches. 
lie  was  noted  for  believing  in  no  law  but  what  he  carried  in  his  own 
arm,  and  for  doubting  every  one's  opinion  but  his  own ;  and,  although 
a  Quaker,  and,  of  course,  a  hater  of  broils,  it  was  whispered  that  he 
and  his  cudgel  were  sometimes  at  variance,  and  that  his  cudgel  did  not 
always  carry  out  the  precepts  which  he  advocated.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  he  was  a  favorite  with  all ;  for  he  was  frank,  open-hearted,  and 
never  stubborn,  except  when  he  could  not  have  his  own  way ;  and  as 
Zadoc,  though  restless  and  persevering,  was  pliant,  there  was  no  col 
lision  between  them  —  they  were  fast  friends. 

As  I  said  before,  Zadoc  had  been  passing  the  afternoon  with  his 
friend,  and,  being  tempted  by  Tommy's  home-brewed  ale,  to  linger 
longer  than  was  his  wont,  the  two  sat  gossiping  at  the  door  of  the 
house,  until  the  setting  sun  warned  Zadoc  that  it  was  time  to  turn  his 
face  homeward.  So,  taking  his  leave,  he  set  out,  and  Tommy,  with 
his  cudgel  under  his  arm,  accompanied  him  several  miles  on  his  way. 
But  at  last  the  darkness,  which  increased  as  they  went,  rendering  the 
road  obscure,  indicated  to  him  that  it  was  time  to  return,  and  bidding 
Zadoc  "  GOD  speed !"  he  left  him  just  as  he  was  approaching  the  peril 
ous  regions  of  Dosoris. 

Zadoc  was  pot-valiant  just  then ;  for  at  least  a  quart  of  Tommy's 
ale  was  buttoned  under  his  jacket,  distending  his  stomach  and  hum 
ming  through  his  head,  until  he  felt  himself  a  match  for  the  largest 
ghost  that  had  ever  made  Dosoris  its  haunt. 

The  principal  scourge  of  this  lane,  of  late  years,  had  been  the  appa 
rition  of  one  Derrick  Wilkinson,  a  hard-riding  horse-jockey,  who  had 
broken  his  neck  about  twenty  years  before,  and  was  said  to  patrol 
the  lane  from  one  end  to  the  other,  and  even  to  waylay  wayfarers, 


ZADOC    TOWN.  497 

and  at  times  to  cudgel  them  soundly,  and  at  others  to  lead  them  into 
all  sorts  of  wild  adventures. 

Among  others,  there  was  a  tale  current  of  his  having  beset  a 
hard-headed  old  negro,  named  Knot,  as  he  was  reeling  homeward 
from  a  husking  frolic,  somewhat  the  worse  for  his  potations,  and  had 
led  him  a  helter-skelter  chase,  all  night  long,  through  bush  and  brier ; 
at  one  time  dragging  him  through  the  swamp  at  the  head  of  a  small 
stream  called  Flag  Brook,  and  at  another,  ducking  him  in  the  Dosoris 
mill-pond,  paying  no  regard  "to  his  entreaties  for  rest,  but,  as  he 
became  weary,  plying  him  with  a  fiery  liquor  of  such  potency  as  to 
keep  up  his  strength  and  courage,  and  make  him  as  reckless  as  the 
goblin  himself;  and  that  the  negro  had  been  banged  about  in  this 
rakehelly  manner  until  the  distant  crow  of  a  cock  gave  warning  of  the 
approach  of  day.  The  ghost  then  dashed  at  a  tremendous  rate  into 
the  fastnesses  of  Boggy  Swamp,  and,  with  a  loud  yell,  disappeared, 
not  forgetting  to  bestow  a  hearty  thwack  on  the  head  of  Knot,  which 
left  him  senseless. 

The  story  was  laughed  at  by  the  young  and  incredulous ;  but  the 
older  inhabitants,  who  had  grown  gray  and  wise  with  their  years, 
placed  implicit  faith  in  the  tale.  They  had  lived  long  in  the  world, 
and  had  amassed  a  great  fund  of  experience ;  and  the  most  of  them 
recollected  that  when  they  were  boys,  ghosts  and  hobgoblins  were 
plenty.  Moreover,  it  was  certain  that  Knot  was  found  on  the  morn 
ing  after  the  adventure,  lying  at  the  foot  of  a  large  tree  in  Boggy 
Swamp,  very  drunk  —  no  doubt,  from  the  effects  of  the  miraculous 
liquor,  and  very  much  stupefied  —  doubtless,  from  the  effects  of  the 
blow. 

From  this  time,  Knot  became  a  standard  authority  on  all  subjects 
relating  to  the  unseen  world.  From  that  date,  too,  Dosoris  became 
more  of  a  wizard  lane  than  ever. 

Zadoc  Town  had  been  one  of  Knot's  most  virulent  opponents,  and 
had  once  or  twice,  in  broad  daylight,  and  under  the  wing  of  his  sister, 
openly  avowed  his  utter  disbelief  of  the  whole  story,  and  had  even 
said,  that  he  would  like  to  catch  Derrick  stopping  him,  "that 
was  all !" 

Returning  Tommy's  salutation  in  a  tone  as  valiant  as  his  own,  he 

32 


498  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

strode  boldly  into  the  lane.  It  was  not  long,  "however,  before  the 
fumes  of  the  ale  began  to  evaporate,  and  as  they  disappeared,  certain 
vague  apprehensions  took  the  place  of  the  false  courage  which  had  so 
far  supported  him.  All  the  tales  which  he  had  heard  came  crowding 
into  his  mind.  He  remembered,  too,  his  own  vaporings  about  ghosts 
and  hobgoblins,  and  particularly  about  Derrick,  and  was  not  a  little 
cowed  at  the  recollection  of  the  rash  courage  which  he  had  showed  in 
daylight.  He  kept  a  stealthy  watch  on  the  dim  hedges  at  the  road 
side,  and,  several  times,  fancied  that  he  saw  a  dusky  figure  flitting 
before  him,  but  it  always  proved  to  be  a  bush  or  a  rock.  There 
was  no  sound  to  break  the  echo  of  his  own  footfall,  except  the  creak 
ing  noise  of  the  thousand  insects  which  darkness  had  awakened  into 
life.  He  cleared  his  throat  loudly,  and  looked  up  toward  the  sky,  but 
the  interlaced  branches  shut  out  the  stars,  and  overhead  it  looked  as 
black  as  midnight.  The  sides  of  the  road,  too,  were  completely  shut 
in  by  trees  over-run  by  scrambling  vines.  He  began  to  doubt  whether 
it  would  not  be  better  to  retrace  his  steps,  and  spend  the  night  under 
the  hospitable  roof  of  Tommy  Croft ;  but  he  recollected  the  shrill- 
tongued  sister  at  home,  who  had  set  her  face  against  vagabondizing 
and  rantipoling  of  all  kinds,  under  both  of  which  heads  she  particularly 
classed  all  indulgences  which  conduced  to  irregularity  or  lateness  of 
hours.  Zadoc  thought  of  this.  If  he  braved  the  dark  lane,  he  might 
escape  its  perils ;  if  he  did  not,  a  warm  reception  at  home  was  cer 
tain.  "  Egad !"  thought  he,  "  if  I  but  had  Betsey  Town  here  to  back 
me,  I  'd  like  to  see  Derrick  tackle  her  !  He  'd  catch  a  Tartar !" 

Had  he  been  elsewhere,  he  would  have  chuckled  at  the  idea  of 
such  an  encounter ;  but  it  was  no  time  nor  place  for  laughing,  for  he 
was  at  the  very  spot  where  the  ghost  was  said  to  make  its  appearance, 
and  he  was  debating  in  his  mind  as  to  the  propriety  of  taking  to  his 
heels  when  he  was  arrested  by  a  voice  at  the  road-side  calling  out, 
"  Mr.  Town,  I  'm  waiting  for  you  !" 

Zadoc's  knees  shook  under  him,  but  before  he  could  rouse  himself 
he  was  jerked  off  his  feet,  and  whisked  over  the  fence  by  a  power 
which  he  could  not  resist. 

"  Follow !"  said  the  voice. 

Zadoc  saw,  in  front  of  him,  the  dim  outline  of  a  figure  gliding 


ZADOC    TOWN.  499 

swiftly  through  bush  and  brier,  stopping  at  no  impediment,  and  also 
felt  himself  impelled  to  follow.  As  they  glided  along  through  an 
opening  in  the  wood,  he  obtained  a  better  view  of  his  guide,  and,  to 
his  horror,  recognized  the  small  jockey-cap,  the  lank,  straight  hair, 
and  gray,  glittering  eyes  of  Derrick  Wilkinson. 

The  cold  perspiration  stood  on  his  forehead,  and  his  terror  was 
not  a  little  increased  by  hearing  a  heavy  step  following  them.  He 
cast  a  stealthy  glance  over  his  shoulder,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  a 
figure  as  far  behind  as  the  other  was  before  him.  All  hope  of  retreat 
was  cut  off,  and  muttering  a  kind  of  rambling  prayer,  Zadoc  followed 
the  spectre  until  they  came  to  a  large  tree  at  the  head  of  Flag  Brook. 
Here  the  ghost  stopped,  and  turning  short  round,  glided  up  to  Zadoc, 
and  said,  in  a  very  respectful  tone : 

"  Mr.  Town,  in  starlight  and  storm,  many  a  weary  night  I  've 
waited  for  you.  I  'm  Derrick  Wilkinson !  Be  seated,  Sir  !" 

This  confirmation  of  his  previous  knowledge  was  by  no  means 
consolatory.  Derrick  had  always  been  a  harum-scarum  dare-devil 
during  his  life-time,  and  Zadoc  had  strong  misgivings  that  death  might 
not  have  improved  his  character.  He  recollected,  too,  Knot's  adven 
ture,  and  his  heart  died  within  him.  He,  however,  slid  to  the  ground, 
as  directed,  and  at  the  same  time  attempted  to  express  some  satisfac 
tion  at  the  desire  evinced  for  his  acquaintance,  but  the  words  stuck  in 
his  throat,  and  he  could  only  move  his  lips  without  speaking. 

"  I  'm  told  you  Ve  got  up  in  the  world  since  I  left  it,"  said  Der 
rick,  by  way  of  opening  the  conversation,  and  of  putting  his  compan 
ion  at  his  ease. 

Zadoc  was  wary,  and  as  he  did  not  understand  the  purport  of  the 
remark,  he  made  a  very  non-committal  answer. 

"  You  Ve  been  a  very  busy  man  in  the  village,"  said  the  appari 
tion  ;  "  you  Ve  made  great  changes." 

'"I've  tried  to  do  my  duty,"  replied  Zadoc,  deprecatingly,  at  the 
same  time  endeavoring  to  change  his  position  in  such  a  way  as  to 
catch  sight  of  the  other  figure,  which  had  followed  at  his  heels,  and 
which  he  now  observed  under  a  tree  close  by,  apparently  ready  to 
back  his  fellow-goblin  in  any  unearthly  project  which  he  might  have 
on  foot 


500  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

"  You  have,  Mr.  Town ;  and  I  honor  you  for  it,"  replied  Goblin 
with  strong  emphasis.  "  I  take  a  strong  interest  in  the  '  Cove,'  even 
yet.  There  were  the  Cowles,  and  the  Crofts,  and  the  Dyhers,  and 
the  Blarcoms,  and  the  Smiths,  and  the  Howlets,  and  dozens  of  others  : 
they  were  rare  boys  in  my  day." 

"  They  are  all  dead  and  gone,"  said  Zadoc,  as,  beginning  to  feel 
less  nervous,  he  grew  more  loquacious. 

"  I  see  most  of  them  every  day,"  replied  Goblin ;  "  one  or  two  of 
them  have  gone  elsewhere,  but  I  meet  nearly  all  of  them  constantly : 
in  fact,  they  sent  me  to  see  you." 

Zadoc's  hair  began  to  bristle,  for  he  had  not  imagined  that  this 
visitation  was  a  concerted  project  of  all  the  defunct  worthies  of  the 
town.  He  made  no  reply,  but  sat  with  every  sense  on  the  alert; 
for  he  observed  the  attendant  goblin  drawing  still  nearer,  and  was 
apprehensive  lest  he  might  represent  another  of  the  departed  worthies. 

"  Rumors  of  the  great  good  that  you  have  done  have  reached  even 
us,"  continued  the  ghost  in  a  tone  which  was  intended  to  be  insinu 
ating,  but  which,  owing  to  the  flimsy  texture  of  its  owner,  was  rather 
asthmatic. 

Zadoc  remained  taciturn. 

"  We  've  heard,  among  other  things,  that  you  Ve  formed  a  com 
pany  to  insure  against  fire.  A  fire  is  a  dreadful  calamity,  Mr. 
Town." 

"  Very  !"  replied  Zadoc. 

"  Fires  are  very  prevalent  where  we  are,"  said  the  ghost ;  "  in 
fact,  they  are  the  greatest  drawback  to  the  place.  We  all  suffer 
from  them." 

Zadoc  moved  uneasily  in  his  seat. 

"  I  think  you  insure  against  fire,  Mr.  Town,  do  n't  you  ?" 

For  a  brief  moment  he  felt  that  he  was  president  of  the  insurance 
company,  and  that  here  was  a  chance  of  turning  an  honest  penny. 
He  replied  in  the  affirmative  with  some  alacrity,  and  began  to  reca 
pitulate  the  terms. 

"  Do  you  think,  Mr.  Town,"  said  the  goblin,  assuming  a  winning 
tone,  and  endeavoring  to  coax  up  a  smile  on  his  sinister  features, 
"  you  could  insure  us  ?" 


ZADOC    TOWN.  501 


"  Yes,  me,"  replied  the  goblin,  "  and  your  other  friends." 

"Against  what?"  inquired  Zadoc. 

"  Fire.  It  's  very  warm  where  we  live,"  replied  he  ;  "  and  I  've 
leave  of  absence  till  cock-crow.  We  thought  if  we  could  get  insured 
during  the  night,  we  would  snap  our  fingers  when  I  go  back.  We 
do  n't  mind  money,  and  it  would  be  a  praiseworthy  act  on  your  part 
to  out-wit  '  Old  Scratch.'  It  tells  greatly  in  a  man's  favor  to  annoy 
the  old  gentleman,  and  that  would,  I  can  assure  you.  I  know  him 
well." 

Here  was  a  dilemma,  and  Zadoc  felt  that  his  present  position 
required  adroit  management. 

"  You  do  n't  mean  to  say,"  said  he,  evasively,  "  that  all  those  very 
respectable  people  —  very  respectable  people  —  have  gone  to  the 
dev  -  " 

"  Whist  !"  said  the  goblin,  "  do  n't  be  uncivil,  Sir.  Wherever 
they  are,  I  mean  to  say  that  the  climate  does  n't  agree  with  them  — 
being  rather  too  tropical.  I  mean,  too,  that  they  want  to  be  insured 
against  fire.  Do  I  make  myself  understood1?" 

There  was  something  too  positive  to  permit  of  farther  equivoca 
tion.  Zadoc  muttered  something  about  his  being  unable  to  insure 
out  of  the  county  without  consulting  the  stockholders,  and  that  he 
feared  the  risk  was  "  extra  hazardous." 

The  goblin's  eyes  fairly  glowed  with  fury  as  he  said,  "  Eefuse,  if 
you  dare  !  You  are  mine  till  cock-crow  !  Will  you  insure  ?" 

Zadoc  closed  his  eyes,  and  muttered  a  prayer.  The  idea  of  get 
ting  the  ill-will  of  the  "  Old  Boy"  by  interfering  between  him  and  his 
property  was  not  to  be  thought  of  for  an  instant,  and  ho  shook  his 
head. 

"  Ha  !"  exclaimed  the  goblin,  gnashing  his  teeth,  "  then  here  's  at 
you  !" 

"And  here  's  at  thee  !"  exclaimed  a  voice  behind  him.  "  Ghost  or 
devil,  take  that  /"  At  the  same  time,  a  heavy  cudgel  was  flourished 
in  the  air  ;  it  descended  on  what  appeared  to  be  the  very  head  of  the 
goblin,  and  cleaving  through  head  and  body,  rang  hard  against  the 
ground.  There  was  a  bright  flash,  a  puff  of  sulphurous  smoke,  a  loud 


502  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

discordant  scream  in  the  tree-tops,  and  Zadoc  found  himself  alone  in 
the  presence  of  his  deliverer,  Tommy  Croft. 

"Thee  was  hard  bested,  Zadoc,"  said  Tommy,  "and  thee  was 
wrong  in  saying  goblins  were  ag'in  natur,  but  thee  withstood  that  fel 
low  as  thee  should.  I  'm  very  sorry,  however,  to  hear  that  so  many 
of  our  respected  friends  have  got  into  such  unpleasant  quarters.  Thee 
won7t  laugh  at  old  Knot  again.  It 's  very  sartain  I  never  saw  so 
unsubstantial  a  thing  as  that  goblin ;  the  stick  went  clean  through 
him,  as  if  he  was  smoke.  Pah !  he  smells  like  burnt  gunpowder. 
Come,  Zadoc,  let 's  be  moving." 

Taking  Zadoc  under  one  arm,  and  his  trusty  cudgel  under  the 
other,  Tommy  tramped  through  the  woods  and  across  the  fields ;  nor 
did  he  relinquish  the  guardianship  of  his  friend  until  he  had  seen  him 
fairly  housed  beneath  his  own  roof,  and  under  the  vinegar  eye  of  Sis 
ter  Betsey,  where  he  felt  certain  that  neither  hobgoblin,  nor  Old  Nick 
himself,  would  be  hardy  enough  to  disturb  him. 


Clark,  Squire. 


BY     FITZ-UKEENE     JIALLECK. 


I'VE  greeted  many  a  bonny  bride 

On  many  a  bridal  day, 
In  homes  serene  and  summer-skied, 
Where  Love's  spring-buds,  with  joy  and  pride, 

Had  blossomed  into  May: 
But  ne'er  on  lovelier  bride  than  thine 
Looked  these  delighted  eyes  of  mine, 
And  ne'er,  in  happier  bridal  bower 
Than  hers,  smiled  rose  and  orange  flower 

Through  green  leaves  glad  and  gay, 
When  bridesmaids,  grouped  around  her  room, 
In  youth's,  in  truth's,  in  beauty's  bloom, 
Entwined,  with  merry  fingers  fair, 
Their  garlands  in  her  sunny  hair  ; 
Or  bosomed  them,  with  graceful  art, 
Above  the  beatings  of  her  heart. 

I  well  remember,  as  I  stood 
Among  that  pleasant  multitude, 
A  stranger,  mateless  and  forlorn, 
Pledged  bachelor,  and  hermit  sworn, 
That,  when  the  holy  voice  had  given, 

In  consecrated  words  of  power, 
The  sanction  of  approving  Heaven 

To  marriage-ring,  and  roof,  and  dower; 
When  she,  a  Wife,  in  matron  pride, 
Stood,  life-devoted,  at  thy  side: 


504  KNICKERBOCKER    GALLERY. 

When  happy  lips  had  pressed  her  cheek, 

And  happiest  lips  her  "  bonny  mou','1 
And  she  had  smiled,  with  blushes  meek, 

On  my  congratulary  bow, 
A  sunbeam,  balmy  with  delight, 
Entranced,  subdued  me,  till  I  quite 

Forgot  my  anti-nuptial  vow, 
And  almost  asked,  with  serious  brow, 

And  voice  of  true  and  earnest  tone, 
The  bridesmaid  with  the  prettiest  face 
To  take  me,  heart  and  hand,  and  grace 

A  wedding  of  my  own. 

Time's  years,  it  suits  me  not  to  say 

How  many,  since  that  joyous  day, 

Have  watched,  and  cheered  thee  on  thy  way 

O'er  Duty's  chosen  path  severe, 
And  seen  thee,  heart  and  thought  full  grown, 
Tread  manhood's  thorns  and  tempters  down. 

And  win,  like  Pythian  charioteer, 
The  wreaths  and  race-cups  of  renown  — 
Seen  thee,  thy  name  and  deeds,  enshrined 
"Within  the  peerage-book  of  mind  — 
And  seen  my  morning  prophecy 
Truth-blazoned  on  a  noon-day  sky, 
That  he,  whose  worth  could  win  a  'wife 

Lovely  as  thine,  at  Life's  beginning, 
Would  always  wield  the  power,  through  life, 

Of  winning  all  things  worth  the  winning. 

Hark!  there  are  songs  on  Summer's  breeze, 
And  dance  and  song  in  Summer's  trees, 
And  choruses  of  birds  and  bees 

In  Air,  their  world  of  happy  wings ; 
What  far-off  minstrelsy,  whose  tone 
And  words  are  sweeter  than  their  own, 

Has  waked  these  cordial  welcomings  ? 
'Tis  nearer  now,  and  now  more  near, 
And  now  rings  out  like  clarion  clear. 
They  come  —  the  merry  bells  of  Fame! 
They  come  —  to  glad  me  with  thy  name. 


TO    LOUIS    GAYLORD    CLARK,    ESQUIRE.  505 

And,  borne  upon  their  music's  sea, 
From  wave  to  wave,  melodiously, 
Glad  tidings  bring  of  thine  and  thee. 
They  tell  me  that,  Life's  tasks  well  done, 
Ere  shadows  mark  thy  westering  sun, 
Thy  Bark  has  reached  a  quiet  shore, 
And  rests,  with  slumbering  sail  and  oar, 
Fast  anchored  near  a  Cottage  door, 

Thy  home  of  pleasantness  and  peace. 
Of  Love,  with  eyes  of  Heaven's  blue, 
And  Health,  with  cheek  of  rose's  hue, 

And  Riches,  with  "the  Golden  Fleece:" 
Where  she,  the  Bride,  a  Mother  now, 

Encircled  round  with  sons  and  daughters, 
Waits  my  congratulary  bow 

To  greet  her  Cottage  woods  and  waters; 
And  thou  art  proving,  as  in  youth, 
By  daily  kindnesses,  the  truth 
And  wisdom  of  the  Scottish  rhyme  — 
To  make  a  happy  fireside  clime 

For  children  and  for  wife, 
Is  the  true  pathos  and  sublime," 

And  green  and  gold  of  Life. 

From  long-neglected  garden-bowers 

Come  these,  my  songs'  memorial  flowers, 
With  greetings  from  my  heart,  they  come 
To  seek  the  shelter  of  thy  home ; 
Though  faint  their  hues,  and  brief  their  bloom, 
And  all  unmeet  for  gorgeous  room 
Of  "honor,  love,  obedience, 

"And  troops  of  friends,"  like  thine, 
I  hope  thou  wilt  not  banish  thence 

These  few  and  fading  flowers  of  mine, 
But  let  their  theme  be  their  defense, 
The  love,  the  joy,  the  frankincense, 

And  fragrance  o'  LANG  SYNE. 


FOKT-LKE,  N.  J.,  July,  1854. 


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